


so keep my candle bright

by whisperdlullaby



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M, Religion, Secret Relationship, got some fluff with a side of angst and lots of smut, small town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 78,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1903281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperdlullaby/pseuds/whisperdlullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis returns to his hometown after four years to find that the reverend’s son has done some growing up of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. greed

**Author's Note:**

> as you can probably guess from the summary and tags there is talk of god & religion, and could relate to some sensitive subject matter to some people. i guess i should make a quick note that this isn’t written to shut down any religion or the gays (obv), it’s more about the bridge between them. though, there’s surprisingly way more smut than i originally had planned. in any case, if you feel really, really strongly against religion i suggest you skip this one. and for those of you still recovering from [say you'll remember](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1142006/chapters/2310709), you also shouldn't have to worry as much, as they're very much fluffy and in love for most of this. ;)
> 
> i’ve never been to holmes chapel, so i take full ownership in the fact that a lot of facts about the village itself are wrong. same with my knowledge of the uk all together, so please bear with any inconsistencies. also, i’m not used to being in a fandom where the families are so well known, so it’s a little awkward for me writing about their family life. the way i wrote their family members in this does not at all reflect how i think of them in real life (in fact, i don’t think about them much at all in real life). it’s merely a story, and the only thing used is their names (which goes for _all_ of the characters, including and especially the boys).
> 
> i've noticed quite a bit of crossover from the panic! at the disco fandom, so I thought I'd make a note for any of you who might've happened to read/hear of the fic "abomination." just wanted to acknowledge the fact that it was _me_ who wrote that. it was very much written in my teenage days, and as this was always an important subject to me I wanted to re-write it in a more mature, realistic way. just thought I'd make the note so no one recognizes the few similarities and jumps on me for stealing the idea. that being said, the only real similiarities are the general plot (pastor's kid), and one scene near the end.
> 
> title taken from mumford & sons. [tumblr](http://hazzaetlou.tumblr.com/post/90879536531/so-keep-my-candle-bright-louis-tomlinson-harry) banner taken from [here](https://www.flickr.com/photos/11382843@N03/3102248143/in/photolist-5J8QhX-hL8mb1-2FQNAR-5XfQNq-bJQMhR-38BTtC-81pySa-81sLoA-jLGJc1-hL7NsF-bvW2hh-bJQMpn-hL8FYq-bJQFGD-hL8EWA-hL8Qxj-hL8Jf9-hL8Qiw-hL8KfA-hL8vr5-hL97J6-hL8Lth-8x2PD-dt5tRG-jLGL2o-jLGKou-jLGKMq-jLEu8z-jLFhGz-jLEwzZ-jLEupB-jLGK8j-jLGHWw-jLFgMD-jLEsSi-5W3Jp7-dNMcg4-iYKqgv-7PEHXx-5XbDvK-GwkRH-5G6EuS-6XgFs8-68FDRn-5XfT1s-88Bco1-9WUhL8-9WUjLD-9WXajd-9WUiCV). lots of love to my wonderful kara's ([x](http://genuinelybelieve.tumblr.com) and [x](http://decisionsandrevisionsfic.tumblr.com)) for being such wonderful beta's. i certainly scored. xx

 

_Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts._

_Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones._

_In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another._

_Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error._

**romans 1:26-27**

  
****

 

Louis was eighteen when he moved to London and vowed to never return home. Turns out, never looked a lot more like four years.

Holmes Chapel is just as he remembers - though smaller somehow, something he never thought possible as a youth when the entire village itself felt like it was caving in on him, squeezing out every last breath. There are the same badly paved roads, trees, houses, and broken down fences. The same old bloody grey sky - it would be a sign, maybe, if the sky weren’t always grey here, miserable and relentless. He supposes it’s no better in London, but it never felt as such. There, it was as if it were a mere inconvenience - an offhand conversation piece amongst patrons, more in habit than in actual complaint. That’s how it felt to Louis anyway. The same grey sky didn’t matter as much amidst the pulse and buzz of a real city. As far as he’s concerned, Holmes Chapel has no pulse. There are no blurry-eyed business people on the tube - no, here you have the twelve old men of the parish council in their black BMWs. Here the students are dressed in stiff, black uniforms instead of flowing colourful skirts and wide-brimmed hats. Last he was here, the closest they had to foreigners was the Horan family from Ireland, and you were certain never to see two men walking down the street hand in hand.

Here, the grey sky is suffocating, mocking his failure, while his mum chats on about the spring fair, as if this isn’t the first she’s seen of her eldest in six months. Like she hadn’t just picked him up from the train station with a duffel bag and three credit cards worth of debt. Denial, plain avoidance, it’s what his mother does best. Like mother, like son.

Most of the trees are still bare, the smallest of buds appearing on the moss-covered branches. It had been summer when he left in the passenger seat of Zayn’s hatchback. The trees were in bloom, the cows were grazing, and the sky was, in fact, blue as Louis stuck his middle finger out the window all the way down Middlewich Road.

“Lewis, are you even listening to me?”

“Mum, how many times do I have to tell you - I prefer Louis now,” he grumbles as he scrolls through his phone to Zayn’s last text message.

“Okay, _Louis_ , I said if you go down to George and Dragon on Monday and speak with Mr. Ward, he’ll likely hire you. I told him you had experience, and they’re looking for someone for the summer season.”

“George and Dragon?” Louis whines, halfway through typing his text. “That place is for fogies.”

“Fine, if you can come up with another way to pay off your eight grand in debt, then be my guest.”

Louis bites back a reply, finishing off his message and pressing send. _just as awful as i remembered and i haven’t even stepped out of the car. how long till you come and rescue me????_ He pockets his phone, and returns to staring sullenly out the window as his mum pulls down their familiar street. At least she’s done trying to have a conversation with him. Louis has always preferred ignoring over pretending when it came to her avoidance tactics.

When his mum turns off the ignition in the driveway, Louis doesn’t move from his seat right away. His house looks no different either: brown brick with ivy trim, an overgrown flower bed. The same oak tree towers out front, the one he loved climbing as a child before he was forbidden to after five-year-old Lottie fell and broke her arm trying to reach the same height as him. He feels a twinge of nostalgia from memories when Holmes Chapel was his home, when it was a beloved one at that, but the thought does nothing to ease the distaste now.

Louis had shared a shitty flat with Zayn in South London for almost the entire four years he lived there. That was until they moved in with their respective boyfriends, and when Louis' relationship crashed and burned within two months of living together, he sought refuge at Zayn and Liam’s. He didn’t have his own room, of course, but a curtained area in their living room. He had hated it, but he would’ve gladly stayed there and dealt with falling asleep on a lumpy daybed while they fucked on the other side of the paper-thin wall, if it didn’t also mean handing over every last penny he earned to them while collections called nearly every day of the week.

“I suspect your night has already been dedicated to moping, but dinner is at six.” Jay gets out of the car, but before shutting the door behind her, she bends down to look at Louis. “Oh, and don’t forget - you’re coming to church tomorrow.”

Louis groans, throwing his head back against the seat as his phone flashes with a text from Zayn. _ha! not a chance!_

*

Louis is awoken by his nine-year-old twin sisters barging into his room, singing what he suspects is a Miley song at an intolerably high level. They were only five when he moved, and he’s seen them only once since then, but that doesn’t stop them from jumping on top of him and sticking wet fingers in his ears.

Knowing it will piss off his mother, he throws on a pair of ripped trousers and a t-shirt of questionable cleanliness. He’s in need of a shower, but he settles for running his fingers through stringy strands of hair. Sure enough, Louis' barely settled into the dining room chair when his mum walks by and runs her own hand through it. “Honey, I think you need a haircut.”

“I happen to like it,” Louis shoots back, taking a sip of orange juice. Truth be told, Louis has wanted a haircut since New Year’s, but when left to choose how to spend the little money he had, alcohol and shoes always won.

Lottie smirks at him from across the table. “You look like a 70s pornstar.”

“My god, you’re right,” Louis gasps. “I’ve been looking in the wrong industry for work all this time.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“You two, stop. That’s not appropriate for the breakfast table, or in front of the twins, you know that,” Jay scolds, setting down a tower of pancakes in front of them. She heads back into the kitchen, yelling for Fizzy and Dan, while he and Lottie grin at each other.

Louis' the closest to her out of all his sisters, mostly because she’s the oldest and therefore Louis had the most time with her before he left. Because she’s older, she was also able to visit him in London the few times his mother came down to see him without the rest of the pack. They texted occasionally, enough for Louis to see that at fifteen, she exhibited a lot of the same traits he had - the same flare for eccentricity, a taste for rebellion, and above all, contempt for this village.

He makes a grab at the pancakes before his three sisters can, pretending to stab them with his fork when they try to take some of their own. Phoebe and Daisy squeal and giggle, mimicking him as they try to stab back, but they miss as he successfully gets two onto his plate. The twins continue into a fork fight of their own, Phoebe crying out when Daisy stabs the fleshy skin between her thumb and index finger.

Jay chastises them from the kitchen, and together they both yell back, “Lewis started it!”

She pokes her head around the corner and glares. “Lewis, please don’t rile the girls up right before church.”

“It’s _Louis_ ,” he says through a mouthful of syrupy dough.

She continues to glare while Lottie takes her own pancake, now that the war has ceased. Lottie shakes her head, smiling in amusement. “Such a brat,” she mouths.

Louis returns with his most practiced angelic look, batted eyelashes and all. He’s been asking to be called Louis for four years now, and he doesn’t understand why it’s so hard. Especially since it technically is his real name, had been until he was ten when he decided to change it after constantly being deemed as a name for sissies and poofs by his classmates. It was his first day in London when a prospective employer pronounced it wrong on his CV - or correctly, he supposes - and he decided to reclaim it. It was a metaphor of sorts, bringing back not only the name but also the parts of him that were buried away with it. He’d be the gayest, baddest poof of them all, and so would his sissy, French name, dammit.

After breakfast, they all gear up and make the five-minute walk to the middle of town as one big happy family. His mum wastes no time before sidling up next to Louis, asking Lottie to go up with Fizzy so she could talk to him alone. She hooks an arm in his, and Louis eyes her suspiciously.

“Sweetheart, I know it’s not easy for you being back here,” she starts, and Louis has to stop himself from scoffing in her face. “You don’t have the fondest feelings over this village, and it’s understandable...”

He stares straight ahead, the tower of St. Luke’s peeking out over the tree tops.

“But remember that we do, Louis. This is our home, our community, and it’s been very good to Dan and me and the girls.”

“Mum, are you trying to ask me not to go barging into the church and announcing that I’m a poof?” he asks with only a little hostility.

“No, Louis, that’s not - ” she shakes her head, looking flustered.

“Then what, mother? What are you trying to say?”

She takes a deep breath, and says slowly, “You know this community can be a little - ”

“Close-minded? Bigoted?”

She looks at him sternly. “Conservative, at times,” she finishes. “It’s a village centered by a chapel, Louis, what do you expect?”

He stares at her, and she looks back, entirely unfazed. Louis learned a long, long time ago to stop trying, not to allow himself to feel disappointment. “Nothing, mum,” he says tightly. “I don’t expect anything.” He pulls his arm from hers, wrapping it around his chest instead. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve long since learned my lesson.” When she doesn’t reply, he adds, “I’ll only be here until I earn back the money I owe, and then I’ll be gone and out of your hair, and you can go back to having the perfect family and forgetting about your inconvenient gay son.” He stalks away, joining Lottie and Fizzy up ahead, ignoring his mother’s calls.  

*

“Can I get a loaf of rye and white, please - and that last ham and cheese croissant.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Lewis.”

Louis looks up from the pastry case to see a curly haired kid grinning back at him. He looks familiar, as every other person in this village does, but Louis struggles to pin him down to a specific name or family. It’s happened countless times this week at the pub where he now works. On days where he’s feeling particularly sassy - that’s most days, he admits - he sends his sweetest, most passive-aggressive smile and says, “Sorry, who are you?” His mother has had four calls this week from elders in the community who just couldn’t believe the oldest Tomlinson didn’t remember them, and he heard every word of it back from his mother. He can’t bear to do that to this kid though, not with that lopsided grin and unruly curls peeking out from under his sad, paper hat. Through the powers of assumption he can guess this kid went to his school, and the happy-go-lucky twinkle in his eye and the fresh-faced, glowing cheeks lead him to believe that he’s still there.

Louis forces a half-smile and says, “Oh, hi.” In an afterthought, he adds, “It’s Louis now, by the way.”

“Oh, Louis. Okay. I like that better.”

“Thanks.”

The kid nods, grin unwavering. He doesn’t move to retrieve the desired bread or his croissant, so Louis flicks his eyes to the shelf behind his back, to the case and then back to the kid, clearing his throat. He’s just finished a long and painful shift on the first sunny Saturday of spring. He’s bitchy, he smells like beer that he did not drink, and he’s famished. He was hoping not to crush this Bambi-like kid’s spirit, but he’d really like to get home. “Um, could I maybe get my bread?”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he says, flustered, turning to locate the right bread. “Rye and white, you said?”

“Yeah.”

He sets them down on the counter before reaching for the croissant, and then a lemon bar.

“Oh, I don’t - ”

“It’s on me. They’re my speciality. Take it as my ‘Welcome Back to Holmes Chapel’ gift.” He hands the two baggies over, and winks. _Winks_. Who _is_ this kid?

“Um, thanks.”

“So, you’re back for good, huh?”

“No,” Louis says quickly. “No, not for good. It’s - temporary. Definitely temporary.”

“Okay.” He’s still smiling, though there are lines in his foreheads as he blinks at him, confused, but pressing no further.

“Uh, how much do I owe you?”

“Oh, right. Geez, sorry.” He shakes his head as he begins to punch buttons on the register. Louis certainly hopes he’s still in school, and that this isn’t an actual career path or anything. He’s a little bit afraid to try this lemon bar. Bambi’s eyebrows are knitted together, the tip of his tongue poking between his lips as he searches the keypad. “I can’t find the new croissant button.”

Louis smiles, biting his own tongue. If this was London, he’d most likely throw a wink and say something along the lines of, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” But he keeps seeing his mum’s disapproving face, the disdain of the elderly in church, the taunting of his classmates, so he says nothing instead, waiting.

“There we go.” Bambi looks up at him, flashing a slightly embarrassed grin. “It’ll be £4.75, please.”

Louis digs for his wallet, pulling out the fiver his mum gave him for the bread. “Keep the change. It’s a tip, for the trouble.”

He makes a face, lips pressed together into a tiny pout. “Thanks, mate,” he says anyway, “I’ll buy myself a few pieces of candy.”

“Great.”

“Right, I’ll grab you a bag,” he says, this time without prompting, slipping the two loaves into a large paper bag. When he hands it to Louis, he says, “Well, enjoy your bread, and your lemon bar. Especially your lemon bar.”

Louis laughs, full and real, probably for the first time since returning, at least at someone other than Lottie. “Thanks, I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll see you at church tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately,” Louis grumbles. “Mum’s orders.”

Bambi frowns a little, head cocked to the side. “Oh, alright,” he says. Bambi’s one of _them_ , he should’ve known. Someone with such sparkly doe-eyes has to be a church kid.

“Well, see you tomorrow.” Louis raises his hand in a wave, starting towards the door.

“Yeah, bye - Louis.” When Louis turns to look back at him, the kid grins, dimples and all, looking proud for remembering.

Louis can’t help but laugh, shaking his head in amusement as he pushes the door open, a bell ringing above his head. “Bye,” he says. “Thanks again for the bar.”

“My pleasure.”

Halfway to his house, already having finished the croissant, Louis' curiosity gets the best of him as he takes the lemon bar out of the bag. He smells it first, as if that will give him a clue as to whether or not it’s actually edible. It smells like lemon. Louis takes one bite, and says aloud to himself, “Shit, that’s good.” He devours the entire thing in three bites.

*

Just like Louis remembers from growing up, he’s forced to wait at least a half an hour after the sermon finishes while his mum flits about the chapel, chatting and volunteering her baked goods for various charities. Louis sits in the last pew next to Lottie, playing _Jeopardy_ on his phone and trying not to gag.

He had entirely forgotten about Bambi and his heavenly lemon bar when suddenly there’s a body next to him, chirping a friendly hello. Louis looks up to see his grinning face, doe-eyes, dimpled cheeks, and curly hair. “Hi Louis.”

“You know you don’t have to say it like that.”

He frowns, confused. “But you said that’s your name now.”

“I meant accentuating the _ee_. A simple Louis would suffice. Rolls off your tongue.”

Next to him Lottie scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t even waste your time on him, Harry.”

Harry. Louis lets the name sink in before his eyes widen, the realization hitting him. “Harry!” he repeats excitedly, feeling like he just won a word puzzle. “Harry Styles.”

Harry gives him a funny look, even more confused. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know who I was,” he says blankly.

“It’s not that I didn’t know…” Louis says slowly, carefully, grinning in innocence, “I recognized you, I just couldn’t place you…”

Harry smirks. He even rolls his eyes lightheartedly. “You couldn’t place the vicar’s son?” he asks with the slightest air of sarcasm.

“Well, if that’s how you want to be known…”

“It’s not - it’s just how it tends to go,” Harry says. “Comes with the territory and all.”

Louis looks him over through the lens of the newly acquired information. He tries to reconcile the small, bumbling, weird reverend’s kid in the baggy khakis and collared shirts that he left four years ago with the tall, lean, and well, _attractive_ young man in front of him. He still has that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed look to him that made Louis' blood curl back then and still kind of does now, but there’s certainly a marked difference in him, Louis can tell, and he doesn’t think it’s solely from the newly acquired tight jeans and white v-neck. “Well,” Louis comments without thought, “you certainly grew up.”

Next to him, Lottie snorts under her breath, loud enough for Louis to hear, and he retaliates by grinding his elbow into her ribs.

If Harry heard, he doesn’t let on. He only laughs, and says, “Well, I was fourteen when you left, so I’d at least hope as much.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “You remember when I left?”

Harry shrugs, looking mildly embarrassed. “Well, yeah,” he says carefully, “it is Holmes Chapel. Not a whole lot goes on here.”

“Touche,” Louis allows.

Louis and Harry were never friends, not even remotely. They might’ve talked once, surely when they were children, or at a church function before Louis' reputation got the best of him, but nothing sticks out in his mind. Not only is Harry four years younger than him, but the crowds they hung in might as well have been from different worlds. Harry was the reverend's son, in every way he could be, and Louis was one of the bad kids that the Harrys of the town were warned against, the kind that skipped school and hung around by the river to get high. By the time he reached his last year of school, some parents would openly scowl towards him, physically pulling their children in the opposite direction when he came near, as if sparing them from catching his disease. Did it really surprise anyone that he escaped this bloody town the second he graduated?

“So, have you done anything exciting since you’ve been back?”

Louis blinks at him like he must be kidding. When Harry doesn’t crack a grin to let him know he is, Louis says, “I’ve watched four whole television series. All had multiple seasons.”

“It’s true,” Lottie confirms dully, not glancing up from her phone.

“Have you seen any old mates? Dylan Hardgrave is still here. He’s working at the Carlsons’ farm. You two were mates, right?”

They were, in all ways that two people who have only partying in common can be. “I can’t remember,” he says. “In any case, don’t feel much for spending time with someone who couldn’t at least try to get out of this village.” Louis pretends he doesn’t see the brief expression of hurt that crosses over Harry’s face. He half expects another snarky comment from Lottie, but none come as she’s too focused on her phone.

“Oh,” Harry says, “I guess that means I’m also exempt.”

“From what?” Louis asks dumbly.

“From hanging out, since I’m still in this village and all.”

“That doesn’t count, you’re still in secondary,” he says automatically before it registers that _Harry Styles_ \- The Reverend’s Kid - hinted at hanging out with _Louis Tomlinson_ \- the kid with The Reputation, the one who’s been living loose and wild in London. Louis would maybe laugh if this kid, this eighteen-year-old kid, didn’t look so sincere and completely clueless. Louis wonders if he’s pulling his leg, or if he actually doesn’t know.

“So, you would hang out with me?”

“Uh - ” Louis flounders. He’s never loved his mother more when she chooses that moment to approach them, grinning wide and bright at Harry.

“Harry, darling. How are you?”

He stands, like any good Reverend’s Kid would, grinning politely. “Hi, Mrs. Deakin. I’m good, how are you?”

“It’s nice to see you boys talking,” she says reflectively, looking between him and Louis.

Louis resists the urge to scowl, and goes back to scrolling through his phone.

Harry and his mother continue to chat for a few minutes, either about the spring fair or the upcoming youth conference or their Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Louis doesn’t really care. He loses a round in _Jeopardy_ when Harry’s saying, “Well, I’ll see you around, Louis? Maybe to come and get another lemon bar?”

“Totally,” Louis says distractedly, only briefly looking up from his phone. Harry looks a little disappointed, though Louis doubts the feeling will stick once he finds out he’s a heathen who sucks cock.

On Wednesday, his craving for that bloody lemon bar gets the best of him, and he stops into the bakery on his way to work, doubting that Harry will even be there. But sure enough, Louis spots the same white hat and curly hair bent over a display behind the counter. He looks up when the bell rings above Louis' head, and instantly grins, wiping his hand on his apron. “Louis, hey! Came for a lemon bar, I reckon?”

“Actually,” Louis says, “yes, I did. You were right to say it’s your speciality.”

Somehow, he manages to grin even wider, face nearly splitting in two. He reaches into the pastry case, grabbing two. “One for later.” He hands them over, looking at Louis as he smiles. “You got a haircut,” he says. “It looks good.”

“I showered too,” Louis comments, grinning proudly.

“Wonderful. Good for you.” He laughs, and says, “Are you going to work?”

“Yes, George and Dragon.”

“Oh, yeah, I know.” When Louis looks at him curiously, he rolls his eyes and says, “Louis, you’re in Holmes Chapel. Nothing is done without the entire village knowing.”

“Right. Somehow I keep managing to forget,” Louis says dryly. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“I don’t have classes in the afternoon this term. Saving up for uni, you know?”

“Right.”

Harry rings up the lemon bars, this time locating all the proper buttons right away. “That’ll be three quid.”

Louis whistles, digging in his pocket for change. “That’s an expensive bar.”

“It’s allowed to be when it’s that delicious,” Harry counters easily.

Louis laughs, nodding in allowance as he counts out the proper change and hands it to Harry in exchange for the bars.

“Hey, are you going to the spring fair on Saturday?”

“Wasn’t particularly planning on it, no,” Louis says. “Though I’m sure my mum has other ideas.”

“Oh, well, I thought maybe we could go together?” Harry asks coolly. He certainly is brave, not to mention very persistent, for an eighteen-year-old. When Louis was his age, he definitely wasn’t asking mysterious twenty-two-year-olds with bad reputations that he barely knew to the spring fair. Then again, that might’ve also had something to do with the fact that he wouldn’t have been caught dead at the spring fair without a large amount of weed in his system.

“Harry…” Louis starts carefully, and Harry blinks back, as if his actions are only slowly beginning to dawn on him now. Inside his head, his mother reprimands him, but he ignores her. He doesn’t exactly want to crush this kid’s spirits, but he also doesn’t feel much for agreeing only for him to find out later on. If there’s going to be any condemnation, he’d rather get it out of the way now. “I’m gay.”

The look of embarrassment is quickly replaced by confusion. “Oh,” he says after a pause. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Louis repeats, feeling a little confused himself. It’s not that he was necessarily expecting Harry to yell “Sinner!” at him or flash him the sign of the cross, but he did expect a little bit of a stronger reaction from the vicar’s son.

“Well, I know the fair is super lame and probably not something you want to do, but I swear it can be kind of fun,” Harry says, just like that. Did he hear Louis correctly?

“You still want to hang out?” Louis asks dumbly.

“Well, sure,” Harry says with a small smile, a funny look on his face, “if you’re okay with hanging out with a sixth former.”

“I just thought - well, I didn’t think you’d want to be hanging out with a - homosexual,” Louis says, wiggling his fingers with a feigned look of horror.

Harry smirks. “Well, to be honest, I kind of figured,” he says. “There were rumours, with you and Zayn. I don’t think you two hid it all that well. Sorry if that’s what you were going for.”

“It wasn’t.” Louis steps back, looking over Harry curiously as if a clue that’s he lying is hidden in his expression or stance. He sees nothing that tips him off, only Harry’s wide eyes and easy smile, so he says, “You really don’t care?”

“No,” he says genuinely, “why would I?”

“I don’t know. I might tarnish your reputation as the reverend’s wholesome and perfect son.”

Harry snorts a little. “Perfect, maybe. But wholesome?” he asks, teasingly.

Louis shrugs. “You know.”

“I don’t care,” he says again. “You seem fine to me, homosexual or not.” He cracks a grin, and Louis can’t help but laugh in return.

He glances at the clock above Harry’s head, cursing himself. “Shit, I start in like, two minutes.”

As he hurries towards the door, Harry calls after him, “You never gave me an answer.”

“To what?” Louis asks, perplexed, as he hovers over the door handle.

“The spring fair, on Saturday,” he reminds.

“Oh, right. Is it really kind of fun?”

“No,” Harry says, admittedly, “it’s pretty awful.”

Louis laughs, the bell sounding as he steps out. “Okay, I’m sold. I’ll go.”

“Okay.” Harry grins, waving as Louis steps out the rest of the way, dashing across the intersection towards the pub.

His coworker, Belle, gives him a condemning look as he steps onto the floor five minutes late. He shoots her a sheepish look, apologizing. He most likely would’ve made it on time if he didn’t have to stop in the back room to devour that bloody lemon bar. Really, if it’s anyone’s fault that he’s late, it’s Harry Styles’s, though he doubts that will offer much consolation to Belle. Despite sharing a name with a pleasant Disney princess, Belle has four kids, an alcoholic husband and is in a constant state of bitch. In any case, Louis can’t afford to lose this job. Unlike in London, if he gets fired, there’s nowhere else to go.

She heads towards the back, her shift done, and Louis calls after her, “There’s a lemon bar in my locker if you want it!”

She doesn’t acknowledge him, but later, while on his break, he finds the half-eaten bar discarded in the trash bin.

“That bitch.” He scowls, resisting the urge to retrieve it and eat it anyway.

When he returns to the bakery the following two days, he tells himself it has everything to do with the lemon bars and that he definitely isn’t disappointed to see a lady behind the counter instead of Harry.

Early Saturday morning, Louis' awoken by Jay in an attempt to get him to help set up the fair. Louis’ groans in refusal, rolling onto his stomach and pulling his pillow over his head. Surprisingly, she gives up and leaves him alone.

When he wakes up a few hours later, the time on his cell phone reading 11:18, the house is eerily quiet. No screaming sisters, no blasting music, no nagging mother. Louis hasn’t had the place to himself in the two weeks that he’s been back. He eats cereal in his boxers, cartoons turned on high, and savours it.

Close to twelve, there’s a knock at his door and Louis answers it without bothering to cover up, prepared to shock another elder with his outlandish behaviour. The elder turns out to be Harry Styles, who blinks at him from underneath his oversized beanie. Harry looks down, taking in his attire before quickly reverting his gaze back to Louis'. He shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, looking a little embarrassed. “Um, are you planning on going like that?”

Louis stares at him, momentarily confused as to why Harry Styles is standing on his doorstep in bright yellow gumboots.

“The spring fair?” Harry elaborates, careful, like Louis might be slow. “Come on, it’s been three days. You couldn’t possibly have forgotten.”

“Right. Yeah, of course. No, I didn’t forget,” he lies. “I just thought that maybe that wasn’t happening anymore.”

Harry frowns. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“I just haven’t seen you.”

“I haven’t been working.” Harry cocks his head to the side, a knowing smirk creeping across his face. “You were going to ditch me.”

“I was not,” Louis says defensively. He leans against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. “I just didn’t expect you to show up at my house. How do you even know where I live?”

“This is Holmes Chapel,” Harry says simply, and Louis' beginning to think that’s his answer for everything.

“Right,” Louis says, “you’ve said that a few times.”

“Well, it’s true.” He shrugs. “So, are you going to change? Maybe let me in, in the mean time?"

Louis steps back, beckoning him inside with a sweep of his hand. Louis looks out at the grey March sky, rain falling lightly and collecting in puddles on his gravel driveway. “It’s raining out and you still want to go to this stupid fair?” He asks as he shuts the door, cutting off the cool air that blows in, causing goosebumps to form on his bare skin.

Harry’s sitting on the bench next to the shoe rack, nodding up at him. “Yes,” he says. “I entered the cake baking contest.”

“You’re lying,” Louis says disbelievingly.

“I’m not.”

“Then where is it?”

“My parents took it in the car this morning when they went to set up.”

Louis looks at his straight face for exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter.

Harry folds his arms over his chest, looking offended and only mildly embarrassed by Louis' reaction. “I work in a bakery. I fail to see how this is surprising or funny.”

Louis' still laughing, shaking his head as he moves towards the staircase, heading to his bedroom to change. “You’re something else,” he says. Before he disappears down the stairs he turns to see Harry frowning at him, resembling something of an indignant child. How Louis ended up agreeing to spend his Saturday with an eighteen-year-old kid who bakes cakes in his free time and enters them in contests is beyond him. His teenaged self would be ashamed to be caught dead with such a person, even if he’s a pretty boy in gumboots.

When Louis rejoins him at the door, now covered in jeans and an old, baggy sweater, Harry still appears bothered. Somehow, Louis finds his old pair of black gumboots hidden in the back corner of the disastrous closet, and while he’s slipping them on, Harry says, “You know, you don’t get to try any of my cake now.”

“Because I laughed?”

“It’s even better than my lemon bars, you know,” Harry says haughtily, examining his fingernails.

“I’d have to see about that.”

“Well, too bad because you won’t because you’re a jerk,” he retorts.

Louis laughs, taking his raincoat from the rack. “All right, then.” He slides his jacket over his shoulders, and looks down at Harry, who’s still glowering at him from his spot on the bench. “Let’s go, yeah?”

Harry sighs, complying, as he stands and joins Louis at the door. Louis reaches over to squeeze his shoulder as he says, “Relax, mate. I was only teasing. You bake all the cakes you want.” Louis holds the door open for Harry, and when he passes by, he looks him over thoughtfully.

Louis shakes his head, and while he’s locking up the door behind him, Harry says, “You’re still not getting any cake.”

By the time they reach the fairgrounds, the rain has fallen into a light drizzle. Louis keeps his large hood on, pulled over nearly his entire face, while Harry trots along without a care in the world, seemingly unfazed by his increasingly rain-soaked hair and drooping beanie. Everyone else appears to be in the same frame of mind, as it looks as if the entire village plus its pets has shown up, trudging along in the muddy grass and braving the open air by the stage to watch the spelling bee. If Louis must admire anything, it’s their dedication and consistency.

It looks exactly how Louis expected it to. These things were always more fun as a kid, of course, or the few times he and his friends crashed it as youths, either high or drunk, pigging out on popcorn and cotton candy and jumping on the bouncy castle. The dozens of tables surrounding the open field contain produce, flowers, and various arts and crafts made by children, housewives, and elderly alike. There are rain-damaged posters for a colouring contest, a singing contest, a pie-eating contest, a wood-sawing contest, a baby show, a pet show, a demolition derby. Louis looks at it all, and feels very, very sad.

Harry’s certainly in a better mood though. For someone who claimed that the fair was awful, he appears fairly content, stopping at all the booths to look at the merchandise and chat pleasantly with the person behind the table. Louis hangs back at a distance in an attempt to avoid small talk, but he almost never succeeds, as Harry pulls him over and whoever it is behind the booth acts like they’re happy to see him, so happy that he’s back in Holmes Chapel. Harry looks so hopeful and warm, and well, clueless, that all Louis can do is smile and be decent, pretending he’s happy too. He can tell by their slow, curious expressions that they’re wondering what he could possibly be doing with the vicar’s son, and it takes serious work not to bite back like he usually would. He supposes he can’t take too much offence. If it was his eighteen-year-old self staring back at them, he’d be giving him and Harry much of the same look.

He spots his mum and the twins at an information booth for a Christian rehabilitation centre, and she grins, waving enthusiastically. When Harry turns back to look at a table of knitted goods, she sends him a thumbs up. Louis looks away immediately, flushing in embarrassment, happy that Harry was too distracted by a multicoloured teapot holder to see.

Louis buys them both candy apples, and they wander past the main stage where a little girl in pigtails is attempting to spell “vindicated.” They walk along the narrow path leading into the forest, while Harry says, “I guess they don’t have things like this in London, huh?”

“Yeah, not really. Closest thing I’ve been to is Camden Market, which is still not even close at all.” Harry looks at him curiously, and Louis elaborates by saying, “Lots of multicoloured hair and face piercings and ripped Nirvana t-shirts.”

Harry smiles, lips bright red from the candied apple. Louis tries not to stare as Harry takes another bite, looking thoughtful. “I’ve only been to London once, with my family. I didn’t see as  much as I would’ve liked. I liked what I did see though. Another world from here, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis agrees. “You said you’re wanting to go to uni though, right? Where were you thinking?”

“Oh, um,” Harry looks a bit embarrassed, ducking his head away from Louis. “Just Manchester, really. That way I don’t have to worry about paying for a room too, you know? I can still live at home that way.” Louis tries to hide his shock, but he suspects that he mostly fails because Harry shakes his head, appearing even more embarrassed. “I knew you’d judge me.”

“I’m not - I’m not judging you,” Louis says honestly. “I guess I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to get away when you have the chance.”

“It’s not that horrible here,” Harry says, quick on the defense. “Plus, my sister, she goes to school in Sheffield. It’s expensive. My parents can’t afford to send both of us.”

“There’s such thing as loans,” Louis says, though he’s not sure he’s exactly the best poster boy for such a thing.

“Yes, but…” he trails off, then shakes his head. “It’s not so bad here,” he finishes. “I don’t mind so much. Manchester is a good school, anyway. I want to get into law.” The skepticism must show on Louis' face, because Harry catches his eye and says, “And more judgment.” He attempts a lighthearted smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s just all very - reverend’s son of you. Stay close to him, get into law…” Louis says with little tact.

Harry stares hard at him, jaw tightened and no longer forcing a smile. “I guess we can’t all run off to London to become an actor, can we?” he says with an edge that sounds foreign compared to his usual chipper tone.

Louis opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it again, lips pressed tight. He supposes he deserves that. He’s about to ask how Harry knew what his plans were in London, but he already knows what the answer will be. _It’s Holmes Chapel._

They’re far into the forest now, the buzz of the fair faded in the distance, overtaken by the sound of the newly arrived birds and crickets. Louis stops, grabbing ahold of Harry’s shoulder, squeezing just briefly before letting go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Harry exhales, looking over Louis. Both of them are still holding their candy apples, half-eaten and forgotten. “You didn’t offend me,” he says eventually. “It’s just that not everyone hates this place as much as you.”

“Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “Sorry for snapping. Sensitive topic, I guess.” When Louis gives no reply, he elaborates by saying, “There’s just a lot of expectations on me.”

Louis blames it on the rain and the way Harry looks like a sopping wet kitten, but he feels a twinge of pity for the kid, something he never thought possible for the beloved vicar’s son. He’s not entirely certain what these expectations may be, but seeing as he’s had to deal with quite a few of his own, he has a pretty good idea.

Harry winces as if in pain, laughing a little while flicking wet hair out of his eyes. “Gosh, you must think I’m such a kid.” He looks at Louis expectantly, shoulders caved in, looking scared of Louis’ response.

“I don’t think that.” Harry peers at him half in doubt, half in hope. Louis clarifies by saying, “Well, sometimes I do, but not at this particular moment.” Louis shoots him a cheeky grin as Harry laughs again, except this time it sounds real. “I reckon we should head back,” he says. “Don’t want to miss your winning cake.”

“Right. Yes.”

They turn back, Louis remembering his now soggy apple and taking a bite. It still tastes good enough, so he eats the rest anyway, Harry finishing off his own. Just as they reach the end of the trail, the main stage coming into view, Louis says, “Look, from my experience, people are always going to have expectations of you. Some you’ll want to meet, others you won’t, and some you just won’t be able to. At the risk of sounding cheesy, you can’t live to make others happy, you know? You’ll only be miserable reaching for someone else’s dream or idea of who you should be. You just have to decide who and what you’re living for, and well, fuck the rest.” He sighs as Harry watches him intently. “But I get it. I’ve been there. For a long time. It’s not always that easy.”

“No. It’s not, is it?” Harry says in agreement. He offers Louis a small smile and a squeeze of his elbow. “Thanks though. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes.”

Halfway to the cake tent, the reverend appears in front of them, stopping them in their tracks. He looks between them with much of the same expression that they’ve been getting from others since they arrived: perplexed, though slightly more affronted. Louis bites his tongue and forces a tight smile.

“Harry, there you are, I was wondering if you were going to show up.” He offers Louis a brief glance. “Hi Lewis, it’s nice to see you back after all of this time.”

“Actually, it’s L- ” he starts, but the reverend has already turned his attention back to his son.

“The contest’s about to start. Your mother’s already there.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. Louis and I were just heading there now,” Harry says, already moving past him.

“Abigail was asking where you were earlier,” Reverend Styles says before Harry gets too far. “She said you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Yeah, I left it at home,” Harry calls over his shoulder, rushing away. Louis scurries close behind, ducking past the reverend’s watchful eye.

“Who’s Abigail?” Louis asks once Harry’s dad is far enough behind them. “Your girlfriend?”

“Not really,” Harry says distractedly.

“Not really?”

“No,” he says again, firmer this time. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

At the tent, Harry’s mum gives them a much warmer greeting, wrapping Harry in a hug and calling him sweetheart while offering what seems like a genuine smile to Louis. Louis has fewer memories of her than of the reverend, but they’re certainly fonder. Both of them involve her giving him cookies in Sunday school. “Mum, you remember Louis Tomlinson?”

“Yes, of course.” She removes her arm from around Harry’s shoulder to lean in and pull Louis in for his own hug, which he stumbles into, taken aback. “Looking very adult and handsome,” she says when she pulls away, squeezing his shoulder and winking good-naturedly. Louis' dripping wet, covered to his knees in mud, and wearing a raincoat from when he was thirteen, but he takes the compliment anyway.

“Mum,” Harry admonishes, flushing in embarrassment.

She laughs, returning to his side as she says, voice staged in a whisper, “I think you might win this year. The competition is kind of - ” She stops, making a face and an iffy motion with her hand.

Harry gasps, feigning shock, playfully whacking her in the shoulder. “You shush now,” he says while Louis watches in amusement. What _is_ a Harry Styles? he wonders. Certainly nothing like he ever expected.

Anne was right - the competition doesn’t offer much to sweat over. Harry’s cake looks simple in comparison: two-tiered with a green fondant base and flowers that sprout from the top like a garden. The others range from Disney princess cakes, to a pirate cake, to a recreation of the Holy Week, from the Last Supper to a mini, golden Jesus in front of a tomb. All of which are either lumpy and falling apart, or too over the top, covered in so many things that they look more like a child’s toy box exploded than anything edible. Louis suspects the look of bliss is even more evident on the judge’s faces when they take a bite of Harry’s cake than when they try the others. Though Louis shouldn’t be surprised when the Jesus cake comes in first and Harry’s is the runner-up.

After Anne gives Harry a congratulatory hug and runs off, Louis grabs the red ribbon from his hand and examines it in disgust. “You know that was totally biased, “ he says. “Jesus always wins here.”

“I know,” Harry sighs, “what was I thinking? It was my fault for not adding a cross on top.”

Louis laughs, handing him back the ribbon. “Well, it certainly looks like the most delicious cake…” he hints coyly.

Harry looks him over in thought, then shakes his head in defeat, laughing. “Fine,” he says, grabbing the knife to cut off a large piece. “You win.” He grabs two nearby plates and slides a slice onto one, handing it over to Louis before cutting his own.

Louis grins in victory, digging in immediately.

It tastes even better than that damn lemon bar.

*

The following Friday, while Louis' working a night shift, Harry shows up with a pack of mates, taking up the largest table near the small dance area. Louis busies himself by wiping down the bar and refilling the drinks of two truckers when Harry appears, leaning against the bar and shooting him his signature grin. “Hey, Louis."

“Hi, Harry. Party tonight?”

“Yes, my mate’s birthday,” he says. “What time do you work till?”

“Close.”

Harry nods, still grinning, but says nothing else.

“Um, did you want a pint or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

While Louis pours him a glass from the tap, Harry says, “Do you have a break soon? You should come sit with us for a bit.”

Louis glances over at the table of rowdy eighteen year-olds, and snorts unintentionally. “I think I might be a bit too old for your crowd.”

Harry rolls his eyes while Louis deposits the cold glass in front of him. “You’re twenty-two, not forty. Plus, Stevie just turned nineteen.”

“Maybe,” Louis says noncommittally. It’s hard to say no when Harry always looks so hopeful and shiny. Like Bambi. “I don’t have a break for awhile.”

“Okay.” Harry shrugs, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

Louis waves him off discreetly after making sure his manager isn’t hovering around. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Think of it as me paying you back for all those lemon bars.”

“Oh thanks, mate!” He grins with twinkling eyes, like Louis just offered him a free car instead of a pint of Guinness. “Anyway, I best get back. I will come and visit soon. Or come visit me, either works.”

“Okay.” Louis chuckles, inching towards a customer who’s tapping the counter impatiently.

Harry grins some more before skipping off with a wave. 

Harry doesn’t return for at least an hour, Sammy diligently serving their table rounds of pitchers and chips. Between customers, Louis dries glasses and watches. He’s surprised to see Harry drinking steadily, and even from across the bar he can see the flush in his skin, the brightness in his eyes as he chats and laughs along with his friends. There’s a girl next to him, pretty with long, brown hair and freckles. She seems interested in Harry, spending most of her time laughing with him, touching his shoulder periodically. Louis wonders if that’s Abigail, if Harry likes her as much as she seemingly does him. Harry hardly seems fazed, never reaching out to touch her himself, but instead evenly distributing his attention between her and the blond boy to his right. He seems friendly enough towards her, so Louis' not sure if he’s just playing coy or if he really isn't interested.

Harry looks towards Louis, already waving before Louis can pretend he wasn’t watching. He flushes, hoping it’s not visible underneath the dim lights behind the bar. Louis gives a tiny wave back before ducking towards the truckers to see if they need refills.

When Sammy comes to the bar to get another round of pitchers for Harry’s table, she raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and says, “The curly kid wants to know when your break is.”

Louis nods briefly, grabbing three pitchers from the shelf.

“A mate?” she asks with a suggestive smirk, chin resting on her hand imploringly. Besides Harry, Sammy’s the only other person he’s met so far that he genuinely likes, and therefore, has blatantly told that he’s into the male variety. She hardly seemed surprised, rolling her eyes and saying, “Well, _duh_.” Louis likes her just fine.

“More like an acquaintance,” Louis corrects. “That’s Harry Styles. You know, the vicar’s son.”

“Wow,” she says while he sets a filled pitcher on her tray. “Well, all I’m going to say is that he’s certainly not looking at you like an acquaintance.”

Louis laughs out loud, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, okay, Sammy.”

She shrugs, still smirking, but says nothing else. Once Louis' filled her tray, she mounts it onto her shoulder and says, “I’ll tell him you’ll be over in twenty.”

Louis narrows his eyes at the back of her bleached-blonde head as she walks away.

Nan leaves the floor to take over for his supper break, so Louis takes his time ordering a sandwich and inches towards Harry’s table. “Louis, you came!” Harry all but cheers when he sees him approach, clapping his hands together in delight. He begins to scoot his chair from maybe-Abigail. “Here, pull up a chair!”

Louis obliges, sending maybe-Abigail a small smile, like he should be apologizing for his temporary interruption in her flirting. “Everyone,” Harry says, clapping his hands to get their attention, “this is Louis. Louis, this is everyone.”

“Hi Louis,” the table erupts in unison.

Louis sinks into his chair, raising his hand in a small, embarrassed wave.

“How’s work?” Harry chirps, reaching for an empty glass and a pitcher. The pour is clumsy, a puddle of beer splashing onto the wooden table. ”Oops.” Harry giggles, narrowing his eyes as he pours the rest with concentration. He slides it over to Louis, grinning proudly. “There you go. Now I served you beer.”

Louis watches him curiously, taking in his bright, glassy eyes and lopsided grin. “Harry,” he gasps, “you’re _drunk_.”

“Shh,” he says, knocking him in the shoulder, “I am not. I’m happy.”

Louis laughs, taking a sip of his beer. “Oh god.”

“Hey,” Harry says, leaning in close and jabbing his finger into his arm, “I am eighteen years old. I’m allowed to drink beer.”

Louis raises his hands innocently, smiling.

Harry forces a dramatic frown, lower lip protruding, but it’s more adorable than it is anything else. Harry squeezes his arm, and says very seriously, “I don’t want to hear anything about my father.”

Louis' lips curl into an angelic grin. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Sammy shows up with his food a few minutes later, reaching over him and Harry to place it on the table. Harry removes his hand from Louis' arm, but she still catches it and turns her head towards Louis, eyes sparkling in contained laughter. Louis avoids her gaze, rolling his eyes into his plate.  

Harry gives him a proper introduction to Niall at his right, then Abigail, confirming Louis’ suspicions. They both greet him warmly, even Abigail, despite the fact that he weaselled his way between her and Harry. She’s certainly very pretty in a girl-next-door type of way, and if Harry isn’t interested, Louis wonders what it is about her that he doesn’t like.

“So, I was wondering,” Harry says while Louis' halfway through his sandwich, “why did you come back anyway?”

“To Holmes Chapel?”

Harry nods.

“Uh, I may have found myself in a little bit of debt.”

“Really? How much?”

Louis reaches for his beer, blushing over the rim. “Uh, a lot,” he says vaguely. Harry raises a pressing eyebrow, and Louis sighs. “Eight grand,” he admits.

Harry stares at him, both eyebrows now reaching his hairline. “Eight?” he repeats incredulously. “Shit, what did you do?”

“Well, first it was acting school, and I don’t know. I wasn’t very responsible with jobs, I cared more about partying and shopping and weekend trips to Paris. I guess I thought I’d land a decent role, but I never really did,” he explains. “I was just careless and stupid. By the time I realized, it was too late. There was no way I’d catch up living on my own in London as a bartender, though not for a lack of trying. After I broke up with my boyfriend I was living on Zayn’s couch for a bit, but I knew I couldn’t do that forever.”

“Oh,” Harry says, reaching for the pitcher to pour himself some more, “You had a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Harry takes a sip of his beer, looking over Louis' shoulder as he speaks. “How long were you together for?” Louis assumes Harry’s blank expression is supposed to pass for disinterest, like he doesn’t actually care about the boyfriend in question but is merely making small talk. The lack of control over his features due to the alcohol gives him away, though. Louis' experienced this countless times - with his family, Sammy, the occasional older customers who seemed to have just stumbled into this decade. Most of the time, Louis doesn’t mind, because he understands it comes from a place of genuine curiosity, of never having met a proper open gay person. They want to know if what they’ve heard is right, if the media’s portrayal is right. Do they sleep around and lead excessive lifestyles, or are they just like everyone else, wanting love and happiness and success? To them, feigning indifference is a way to find out without causing offence. Some are just worse at it than others, and Harry happens to fall closer to that end.

“Just under a year,” Louis answers. “Honestly, I think we rushed the whole moving in together thing. Zayn was moving in with his boyfriend, so I would’ve been out a roommate. Aiden needed money too so we figured splitting rent for a one-bedroom flat would be good. We did save a lot of money, but yeah, we broke up after two months. We fought too much.” Harry nods in acknowledgement, this time meeting his eyes, and Louis finishes with, “I’ve learned my lesson though. Don’t move in with a boyfriend after seven months.”

“Seems reasonable,” Harry hums. “Are Zayn and his boyfriend still together?”

“Yes, but they met like, a month after we first moved there, and were together two years before they moved in together.”

Harry looks a bit surprised by this, but swallows it down with a sip of beer. There’s a pause in conversation, Harry coming up with no more questions, so Louis listens in on a heated conversation between Abigail and her friend on the return of boybands.

“Well,” Harry says eventually, “I know you’re not super excited to be back, so you might hate me for saying this, but I’m kind of happy that you are.”

Louis raises a curious eyebrow.

“I always thought you were so cool. I saw all the school plays you were in. I thought you were really talented.”

Louis looks at him, not really knowing what to say besides an awkward, “Thank you.”

Harry turns red as if his own words are only registering to him now. “I wasn’t supposed to admit that, was I?”

“No, it’s not that.” Louis shakes his head, floundering for a response that doesn’t have to do with - well, Harry being the vicar’s son and a regular church attendee. “I just - well, thank you. For saying that. I didn’t realize you even really knew who I was.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry replies. “Louis Tomlinson, lead of all the plays. Holmes Chapel future star, and resident bad boy. There was always a new rumour about you, enough to reach down to us year nines.”

Louis freezes, hand on the remains of his sandwich. He picks it up and takes a bite, chewing slowly. “What kind of rumours?” he asks as casually as he can manage.

“Oh, you know,” Harry says offhandedly, chuckling softly, “Acting out to teachers, telling Ms. Weathers to get some. Or that you set off the fire alarm to get out of an English exam. Things like that.”

Louis relaxes, taking the last bite of his sandwich in ease. This time he meets Harry’s eyes, and grins. “And me and Zayn?”

“Yes, and that,” he says. “Though there was straight rumours too. Girls you hooked up with. I assume they were started mainly by younger girls who fancied you themselves. Unless, of course, they were true?” Harry looks at him questioningly.

“There was a couple. But never in sixth form. I was kind of over it by then. You know, the whole tits thing.”

The flush on Harry’s cheeks burns brighter. “Oh. Right.”

“And as for Zayn? Not really.” Harry looks at him curiously before realizing, and blinks back to indifference. “A bit of boyish experimenting is all.” And then, purely for his own entertainment of watching Harry squirm, he adds, “We didn’t fuck if that’s what you were wondering.”

Harry’s eyes widen, blush growing redder and spreading down his neck. He looks around to see if anyone heard, then says with a hint of sarcasm, “I wasn’t, but thanks for clearing that up for me, should I ever wonder.”

Louis winks as he gulps back the rest of his beer. “My pleasure.”

Harry laughs under his breath, shaking his head and burying his face in his palms. “Oh god.”

“And you thought I was cool, huh?”

Harry glances at him with one eye uncovered. “Sure, but more in the way of I thought you were a good actor and had a really nice voice, and then maybe a little in the way a sheltered church boy would be over someone who seems to at least be having a lot more fun than him.”

“Makes sense,” Louis allows. “I was pretty cool.”

“Really?” Harry asks. “Because I’m very quickly learning that you actually really, really weren’t.”

“Nice try, Styles,” Louis says, getting up from his seat. “It’s too late to try and take back your words. I already know you think I’m the coolest.”

All Harry can do is shake his head once again, lips pressed firmly together to hold back laughter.

Louis takes his empty plate with one hand and returns the chair to its proper table with the other. “I’m going back to work now. Let you be, as I know there’s only so much cool you can handle at one time.”

He walks away to Harry’s laughter.

Louis stays behind the bar for the remainder of the night, periodically glancing over at Harry’s table. His and Abigail’s chairs are pushed together again, though from here Louis can’t tell who was the one to move. As the night goes on, and more people show up, the less people stay in their seats. Louis can hardly keep track of Harry as he seems to circle the entire pub, mingling with anyone and everyone. He spots Harry on the dance floor, playing pool, going out to the patio, giving piggyback rides, receiving a piggyback ride, and sitting on various people’s laps. Louis gets that Harry was fourteen when he left, but when he thought of Harry Styles he thought of a quiet, weird kid who read the Bible on Friday nights and only attended birthday parties in the church basement with piñatas and worship songs. He didn’t expect to find him in a pub, tipsy and wearing skintight jeans.

It’s not until the end of the night when the pub is starting to thin out that Harry finally comes up to Louis at the bar. He sits down at a stool, resting his chin against the counter, and looks up at Louis through lashes and curls. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis says back, filling up a glass of water and setting it down in front of him. “Drink.”

Harry obliges, chugging it back in one go, and Louis instantly goes to fill up another.

“How you feeling, champ?”

Harry rolls his eyes, taking the glass from his hands. He raises it to his lips, and mumbles from behind the rim, “‘m not drunk.”

“Do you do this often?”

“I’m not a kid,” he retaliates stubbornly.

“I’m not - ” Louis inhales, pauses, then exhales before trying again. “I just thought your parents would care. That they’d hear about it with a village that talks like this.”

“Fine, I don’t do this often,” he says admittedly. “If I do, it’s always in big groups like this so no one pays attention to me. I don’t usually drink this much.” He presses his forehead against the counter and whines. “Sometimes I just want to be a normal kid who gets drunk and makes a fool of myself without worrying that the whole bloody town will tell my father.” Harry lifts his head to look at Louis again and says, “Is that too much to ask? I don’t think it is.”

“Seems reasonable.” Louis taps at the half-empty glass, signalling for Harry to finish it. “Every kid deserves to get pissed, snog someone embarrassing, and puke in front of everyone. A rite of passage, some call it.”

Harry chugs the water, then slams the glass down. Louis grabs it, filling it again. “Exactly!” Harry says passionately. “And it’s like, everyone thinks that I should be like, at home reading the Bible and praying. Even my closest mates are careful around me sometimes. Like, oh better not do that in front of the vicar’s son. It doesn’t matter that it’s just me. Just Harry.”

Louis is tempted to ask him why he wants to stay in this town once he graduates then, but he figures it might not be the best time. Instead, he skirts around it by saying, “Well, think, come a few months you’ll have a whole uni full of people who don’t know or care about your father.”

Harry sits up straighter, pushing some hair out of his eyes. “Yeah.” He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Niall appears at Harry’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and rubbing his knuckles against his skull. “Hey there, mate. Ready to head out?”

Harry whacks his hand away and twists his head to pout at Niall. “Already?”

“Oh, okay, party animal,” Niall says teasingly. “It’s nearly one. Don’t want you turning into a pumpkin.”

Sighing, Harry finishes off what’s left of his water and stands up. “If we must.” He turns to look at Louis with a pleased expression, as if a grand idea just occurred to him. “Hey, a couple of us are going for brunch tomorrow, you should come.”

Louis shakes his head so quickly and fervently that he’s concerned it might cause neck damage. “Oh, no. No, thank you. I don’t think -”

Harry digs into his pocket for his phone, refusing Louis' protests. “It’s just brunch. Unless they interfere with your plans with your many other friends?” he asks smugly. Louis can only respond with pursed lips and an unamused stare as Harry pushes his phone at him. “It’s not a big deal. It might be good for you to get out of your house to do something other than work and watch consecutive episodes of Gossip Girl.”

Louis scowls, but takes Harry’s phone gingerly, as if it’s a ticking bomb. He types in his name as _I Hate Brunch_ , but adds his real number underneath nonetheless. He passes it back to Harry, contact screen still open.

Harry takes one glance at it and snorts. He pockets it again, and says, “I’ll call you tomorrow to wake you up.”

“Alright.” Louis shrugs, lacking enthusiasm.

Harry parts with a twisted smirk, Niall following close behind and offering Louis a wave. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, mate.”

Louis immediately returns to his closing duties, collecting the empty glasses and bottles around the bar and filling the sanitizer. He sneaks glances at Harry as he collects his coat and does a round to give everyone a hug goodbye. He leaves with Niall and three others, his arm thrown loosely around Abigail’s shoulder. At the doorway he cranks his head to look at Louis, shooting him a wide grin. Louis pretends not to see and goes back to shoving a plate into the dishwasher.

Harry can call all he wants in the morning. He could even show up and give him the biggest and most endearing Bambi eyes that he can muster, but Louis is definitely, _definitely_ not going to brunch with a bunch of church-going, hungover, eighteen-year-old bumpkins.

He looks up to see Sammy hovering along the far counter. She shoots him a knowing grin along with two thumbs up.

Louis ignores her too.

*

The cafe is packed when he shows up, but he spots Harry immediately, seated in the far corner next to the window, a hideously bright orange beanie on his head.

He’s alone, seated at a table for two, flipping through a newspaper.

“Where is everyone?” he asks before he sits down.

Harry looks up, smiling loosely. “I thought you’d be happy.”

He is, though when Harry said ‘a couple people’ Louis wasn’t exactly picturing only Harry. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“They bailed. Something about sleeping and hangovers.”

Louis keeps his eyebrow raised and smirks. “Now, Harry, if you just wanted to have brunch with me you could’ve just asked. No need to tarnish your image with lies.”

Harry instantly colours. “I’m not.” He frowns, fumbling in his pocket. “I’ll even show you the text mess- ”

Louis holds up his hand to stop him as Harry retrieves his phone, shaking his head and laughing. “Harry,” he says, “I was just teasing.”

Harry blinks at him from across the table like he’s actually considering getting up and walking away. But then he sighs and puts his phone away. “They really did,” he mutters.

Louis shrugs, offering an easy smile. “Okay.”

Harry adjusts his beanie, tugging it down to his eyebrows as if trying to hide his face. He looks tired, his eyes bleary and rimmed red. Louis' not sure how hungover Harry feels, if at all, but he looks comfy and soft in his navy blue hoodie and joggers.

The waitress comes by with a pot of coffee and empty mug for Louis, refilling Harry’s as well.

“I already know what I want. The tomato and avocado breakfast croissant,” Harry says to the waitress before glancing at Louis. “It’s really good. Unless you want some time to look over the menu.”

Louis looks down at the menu, a single typed sheet. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get the same thing. Except maybe add some bacon to it or something.”

Sure thing.” She nods with a smile, and scurries off to the back room.

Louis watches as Harry dumps cream and a packet of sugar into his coffee, stirring it with his finger even though a spoon is sitting right next to his mug. “So, how come you want to hang out with me?” Louis asks. “Well,” he says in an afterthought, “besides the fact that you think I’m awesome.”

Harry rolls his eyes, momentarily appearing flustered again, but once he takes a sip of his coffee and lowers his mug, his expression is composed. “Why not?” He shrugs. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve had the same friends since nursery, and it’s not like you have a ton of friends yourself.”

“Hey, I have friends,” Louis says a bit defensively, even though he knows it’s besides the point. “They’re just not here.”

Harry doesn’t reply. He cups his hand around the mug and stares inside thoughtfully. “You don’t have to hang out with me. I won’t be offended. I know I’m just the reverend's weird, younger kid to you.” He looks up at Louis with a steady gaze, the corner of his lip twisted just slightly. “I was actually quite surprised when you agreed to hang out with me the first time. I thought for sure you’d laugh in my face.”

“Really?” Louis' forehead wrinkles in surprise. “It didn’t seem like it.”

“Good actor, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Louis agrees. He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the original topic. “And no, I want to hang out. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, trust me.”

“Okay. Alright.” He hides his grin behind his big, red cup, but his dimples escape the shield.

Louis smiles back.

“So.” Harry sets his mug down after a moment, and holds his hand out towards Louis, palm up. “Friends?” he offers.

Louis looks down at it, then back up to Harry’s unblinking eyes. He slips his hand inside Harry’s warm one, and shakes it in agreement. “Friends.”


	2. gluttony

Louis’ intentions for his time back in Holmes Chapel had hardly extended past working hard to pay off his debt while maintaining as little contact with the outside world as possible. He hadn’t expected to make any friends, nor had he _wanted_ to - yet somehow, that’s exactly what Harry has become.

Harry is a weird one, that much is true. He’s a mess of contradictions, keeping Louis on his toes and always leaving him curious for more. It’s not unusual for Louis to grow bored with someone, but after a month of being around Harry, the fascination he holds has yet to diminish. Even Harry’s stupid jokes and painfully pointless stories keep Louis wanting more in a way he can’t explain, let alone understand. One minute Harry is the fresh-faced, doe-eyed kid he first met, and the next he’s whipping out sass that leaves even Louis fumbling for a comeback. He’s the obedient, genuinely worshipping Christian to the beer-drinking, ‘that’s what she said’-dropping ball of energy. He goes from adorably precious to embarrassingly nerdy to smoulderingly sexy, all before you can even recognize the transitions. He shouldn’t make any sense, yet he seems to fit Louis in ways no one has before. There’s an ease between them, a sort of understanding, a safe place where Louis’ guard can come down for once.

There are very few things to do in Holmes Chapel, especially in the wet season, but he and Harry seem to have enough fun without the constant use of mind-altering substances, unlike the days of Louis’ youth. Even watching consecutive hours of telly with Harry is a blast, always having to rewind to see what they’ve missed after getting lost in conversation or laughing themselves in stitches. Louis might not have wanted to make any friends, but Harry is an unexpected blessing. Without him, the days would undoubtedly drag. He expects there would be more tension too, as Harry has been faithful to lighten the mood when Louis’ feeling especially grumpy, having diffused more than one situation when a member of the community gave Louis a look he wasn’t quite warmed by.

It takes a month for Louis to notice his crush - though he suspects it was a month too long. He reckons Zayn would’ve known by the second day, had he been around to see Louis in a constant, wistful daze at work, or the way his cheeks were always aching from smiling so much. It’s a crush, alright, as Louis feels positively juvenile. He hasn’t felt this way in as long as he can remember, since secondary at least. He just can’t help it - can’t help wanting to be around Harry all the time, it’s just so easy to, like Harry’s the extension of himself he’s only just meeting now. The feeling of always wanting to be around Harry becomes even more ridiculous once Louis realizes he practically is, only work and school getting in the way. Even then, it’s normal for Harry to be sipping tea and doing school work at the end of Louis’ bar, or for Louis to pop into the bakery for a chat and lemon bar.

The only thing Louis hasn’t quite reconciled yet is Harry’s father - but he’s working on it. Kind of. It’s a hard pill to swallow, relating one of the very best people you’ve ever met to a man whose very name causes your blood to boil. Especially when the feelings are mutual. Louis can’t imagine the reverend suddenly inviting him over for tea and biscuits, laughing and being merry while singing fucking _Amazing Grace_.

This, incidentally, leaves them spending most of their time at Louis’ house - much to his own mother’s cautious delight. Not once has Louis been over to the Styles’ home. Harry had initially invited him over, but Louis’ always had excuses ready, and eventually Harry stopped asking. Louis’ not sure if he got the hint and gave up, or if it was because he had realized his dad wasn’t keen on having Louis over to contaminate their home with his homosexuality. The fear of the answer is what always stops Louis from asking.

His answer comes in early April though, when Harry, starfished across his bed, recalls the conversation between him and his parents from the night before.“So, my dad goes, ‘Son, I don’t know how I feel about you hanging out with the Tomlinson son all the time.’ That’s what he called you, the _Tomlinson son_.” Louis watches Harry from his computer chair, eyes trained to the ceiling and cheeks tinged pink. Louis attempts to keep his gut from seizing with long, steady breaths. The reverend already took one thing from him, he’ll be damned if he tries to do it again. “And I asked him why not, and he told me, like it was some big secret, that you were gay. And when I said I knew, he said it’s fine if my purpose is to show you the Lord, and my mum says, ‘Well, how is he going to show him Jesus if they aren’t friends?’ I think she was trying to help. But my dad says running around with you is ruining my reputation, and I said I didn’t care about my reputation and that people can think whatever they want to think. You know? Because I really don’t. But of course, he didn’t really like that.”

Exhaling, Louis begins by saying, “Harry…you don’t have do that. Get in fights with your parents for me. Honestly, I’m used to it, and I was prepared for it to go right back to how it was before.”

“It’s not just for you,” Harry cuts in quickly, still not turning to look at him. “I mean, it’s for me too.”

Louis studies his profile, watches for a twitch in his expression, a blink of his eyes, but it stays remarkably straight. “Oh, yeah? How so?”

“I just…I don’t know. I’m tired of agreeing to things and believing something just because my dad says it’s true. I’m sick of maintaining my spotless reputation. I’m eighteen, and he has no right telling me who I should be hanging out with.”

Louis waits, mulling the question over while picking the remnants of a David Beckham sticker he stuck on the back of his chair when he was eight. There was a reason why he never asked Harry this, never even skirted around the topic. Similarly, he didn’t want to hear the answer, this time afraid it would align too closely with his father’s. The strength of Louis’ curiosity seems to override his fear, though when he finally forces the words to his lips, they come out dull and disinterested. “You don’t think being gay is a sin?”

Harry’s answer doesn’t come immediately, the muscles in Louis’ shoulders tensing as he braces himself. Considering that they’ve been hanging out for a steady month now, it seems silly for him to be worried, like Harry turning around and telling him he’s disgusting and an abomination is even a slight possibility. Harry had told him once that he didn’t care if Louis was gay, and had shown no signs of going back on it afterwards. But still, Louis is no stranger to hurt and disappointment when it comes to these types of things, and he’s learned not to expect too much.

Finally, Harry turns onto his side to peer at Louis with a slightly funny look, as if he’s not sure whether Louis is kidding. “I am hanging out with you, aren’t I?”

“Well, I was wondering if you were trying to show me the Lord or something,” Louis teases. He gives a small laugh, hoping the apprehension he feels isn’t noticeable. He expects a few possible responses, but a genuinely hurt expression is not one of them. “I was kidding,” Louis says, quick in attempt to backtrack and cover suspicions. “More like, you could be one of those types that think it’s a sin but you know, decide to go the more loving, accepting route. The whole love the sinner, hate the sin thing, right?”

Harry doesn’t appear any more impressed, shaking his head as he says, “I don’t think it’s a sin.”

Louis’ shocked expression can’t be helped, along with the “ _Really?_ ” that follows.

Harry looks at him long and hard. He appears to be even more confused than Louis, shallow indents lining his forehead. “It’s love, isn’t it?” he eventually says, slow like Louis might not understand otherwise. “How can love be a sin?”

Louis would make a joke about how not all the gay things he’s done have been about love, but he has the faint suspicion that the comment would hardly help the conversation go along any smoother. “Some people don’t see it like that though,” Louis says instead. “They see it as a perversion, or a brokenness - I’ve heard that one quite a few times. That it’s a result of the fall of Adam and Eve, right along with stealing and murder and pedophilia.” His voice catches near the end, words becoming choked, so he stops to kick the ground with the back of his foot. “There’s like, three verses that you know, make it sort of clear,” he says once the waver breaks, tacking on a forcibly airy chuckle.

Harry doesn’t laugh. Instead he watches Louis with such a sad expression that Louis has no choice but to look away. “I’m sorry you had to go through that…stuff. On behalf of Christians everywhere, we don’t all think that way.”

“Thanks.” Louis shrugs blithely.

A silence falls between them, during which Louis keeps his eyes trained to the ground, the feeling of Harry’s eyes boring into his skull undeniable. Harry’s the first to speak, voice quiet. “Do you still believe in God?”

Louis pauses to consider, weighing the question out. In everything that they’ve talked about in this past month, God or religion had not made that list. Louis’ been curious, but the time has never felt right to bring it up. Harry had never mentioned it either, despite the fact that they’ve both been attending church every Sunday, and always sit next to each other. Louis was right to assume that Harry believes in God and considers himself a Christian, but he’s wondered, as he seems worlds different than the view Louis' had of Christians in general. Granted, his family all considers themselves to be, but to Louis, they’re in a completely different category to the Styles family and every other high member of St. Luke's congregation. His mother, of course, tries to be like them, the mask more familiar than her own face - but Louis knows better. With Harry, it’s just confusing.

“Sometimes,” Louis says honestly. When Harry looks at him curiously, he elaborates by saying, “It’s just kind of hard. I mean, I believe I’m gay first and foremost, so it’s hard to reconcile that with the God I’ve been taught about. I’ve even been told it’s one or the other. I can’t believe in God and be a ‘practicing homosexual’ at the same time.” Louis decidedly leaves out the fact that Harry’s own father was the one who told him that.

Harry’s expression remains sad and full of pity, and Louis fidgets underneath it, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I don’t think that’s true. That it’s one or the other. I can’t imagine God wanting that either.”

Louis shrugs. No offence against Harry or anything, as Louis knows there’s genuinity in his words, but seeing as his father is supposed to be like, ordained by God himself, Louis has a hunch that he’s a little more in tune with what The Big Guy has to say on such matters. So, in the meantime, Louis will continue sucking cock and wondering why, if God is real and the creator of all things, that he decided to create him as a big, gay sinner.

Louis’ mum didn’t react much better to their newly acquired friendship. Barely a week into it, she had cornered Louis after breakfast once the girls had gone to school. She claimed she was concerned, that he and Harry were completely different people with completely different values. She made it seem as if she was merely worried for a future clash or fight between them that would leave them hurt - by _them_ , Louis assumed she meant Harry. He knew that her real concern laid in what the village thought, that their friendship would bring attention to her in one of the only ways she didn’t want it. She didn’t have to say it, but he knew what she really meant that day was, “Louis, don’t embarrass me.”

But the thing is, Louis doesn't think she’s ever given him the chance not to.

*

Louis' snuggled on the couch watching _Zoolander_ with Lottie when his phone buzzes with a text from Harry. _where are youg ? come to river pls. xxxxx_ Louis barely has time to make out the entire text before another is coming through. _partyyyy??! xxxxxx_

Louis stifles a laugh, sinking into the couch and turning his screen from Lottie’s prying eyes. _Harry, are you drunk AGAIN????_

Enough minutes pass that Louis thinks he might not reply at all, but then his phone is buzzing again with a list of emoji, including a nose, a piece of poo with eyes on it and what appears to be a woman getting her hair cut. Harry is definitely drunk, and somewhere in the woods he is laughing his arse off.

Louis sends back an alien, and returns to watching the movie. Fifteen minutes pass, and Louis assumes Harry forgot that he even texted him when he receives another message. _seek you coming?????_

Louis sighs, glancing towards his sister. “Will you hold it against me if I bail on this movie?”

“Why?” She holds up a hand before Louis can answer, shooting him a knowing smirk. “Let me guess, Harry?”

Louis sends her a sheepish look. “He’s drunk. By the river. Someone should be there to make sure he doesn’t drown.”

“Harry Styles is drunk?” she repeats incredulously, grinning ear to ear in amusement. “Can I come?”

“No.” Louis stands up, phone still open in his hand. “And don’t go repeating that either.”

“Fine, but if he’s by the river I assume he’s at a party, and if he’s at a party I assume others from school are there, and I assume that if he’s drunk enough to fall into the river, then most of the school will know about it come Monday.”

Lottie’s probably right. Louis was known to party by the river himself when he was in school. It was a popular location, far enough from the town and houses, secluded by thick brush. Often it was Louis and his small group of friends that would spend their nights there, their haven to bitch and smoke and not deal with their parents, but many weekends, others from their school would join when they didn’t feel like braving it with their parents and fellow churchgoers at one of the pubs. Every once in awhile, one of the strict and obedient church kids would drink a little too much Pimm’s, serving as their endless entertainment for the night. Like it would at any other school, the gossip followed to the halls on Monday, but not before it spread through the pews in hushed tones on Sunday morning. As much as he’d like Harry to let loose and do what he wants, he hardly wants the rest for him.

While leaving, Louis offers another apology, creeping up the stairs and through the darkened living room.  He doesn’t have a curfew, but he’d rather avoid his mother’s questions while on a rescue mission for the vicar’s drunk son. It doesn’t appear to be raining outside, but Louis slides on his raincoat and gumboots, remembering that the walk down the river was never a clean one, nor a lit one, so he grabs a flashlight from the closet. There were always plenty of girls who came out for the night dressed in flats and dresses, only to end up with one shoe and their knees covered in thick mud.

The walk to the river is only five minutes from his house, and he texts Harry on the way. _be there soon you mutt_. He’s just nearing the bridge, distant laughter coming into earshot, when Harry says, _like a dog???_

Louis laughs and pockets his phone without a reply, swapping it for his flashlight. It’s a nice night, the air calm and dry, though it feels chillier near the water. He’s thankful that it’s too early in the season for there to be bugs, which was always the one downfall to their secluded sanctuary. He made the right choice in shoes though, as the ground is still soft and muddy from the previous day’s rainfall.

Upon spotting the glow of a fire from beyond the trees, Louis switches off the flashlight. The laughter is louder now, clear enough that he can tell it’s more than just a few of Harry’s close friends. He steps into the woods, branches cracking underneath his feet while others smack him in the face. It’s then that he realizes just how crazy it is that it’s after midnight, and here he is trekking through the mud just because drunk Harry Styles asked him to.

Louis hovers just before the clearing to take in his surroundings, trying to spot Harry before submerging himself completely inside. It takes a moment, but eventually he spots him through the flickering fire, hood pulled up as he stares entranced at the flames.

Louis' barely made it around the bonfire when Harry spots him and jumps up, running towards him to throw his arms around with his neck with little gentleness. Louis' sure that he even makes an oomph sound. Harry is a giant, which is embarrassing since, you know, Louis has a whole four years on him. “Louis, you came!”

“That I did.”

“I knew you’d come,” Harry says, keeping Louis in a tight hold. This is the first time that they’ve ever hugged, and Louis has to remind himself that Harry is very, very drunk. Drunk enough that the smell of beer was noticeable the second he stepped near. “Niall said you wouldn’t, but I knew.” He pulls back, but he keeps his hands on Louis' shoulders while peering at him with squinted eyes and a lopsided grin. Louis' not sure of what to say, so he smiles back instead. Harry lets go and tugs on his arm. “Come sit.”

Louis complies, allowing himself to be pulled towards the log where Harry was sitting, a lone guitar to his left. They squeeze in close; Somehow Harry feeling even warmer than that damn fire. Curse this bloody crush, making him do ridiculous things on one of his only weekend nights off. Not that he was doing anything exciting anyway, but still, it’s the thought.

“What have you been drinking?” Louis asks.

“Beer mostly, I think,” Harry responds. “I had some of Abi’s gross green stuff for awhile. It tasted like, like, sweet grass.” He frowns, appearing genuinely offended over such a creation.

“And you’re feeling all right?”

Harry lays a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close while he grins. Louis looks back at him, watching as Harry attempts to hold his gaze, but his eyes are glassy and out of focus. “Wonderful, Louis. I am just wonderful. How are you feeling, Louis? Are you okay? Are you feeling good?”

“Yes, Harry. I’m great, though apparently not as great as you,” Louis comments in jest.

Harry laughs, replacing his hand by smushing his face into Louis’ shoulder. Louis remains very still. “We, mister, we will fix that,” he says, half of his words muffled into Louis' coat. He pulls back to jab Louis in the chest with an uncoordinated finger. “Niall has beer. Niall is supposed to come with beer. Where did he go?”

Louis is tempted by the offer. After all, there’s nothing he hates more than being sober around drunk people, but looking around the party at similarly intoxicated youths, he supposes he should be the sound mind for Harry. Plus, despite the fact that his opinion might change in as little as fifteen minutes, at the moment, Louis finds Harry to be more endearing than annoying anyway.

Before Louis has a chance to reply, Harry is yelling for Niall at the top of his lungs. “Niall, you Irish fucker, where is my beer?” He begins to giggle at himself, curling back into Louis, practically falling into his lap.

Louis reaches out to pet his hair, and says, “Are you sure you need any more?”

Harry pushes himself up with a hand on Louis’ thigh. He stays close, his hot, beer-stained breath brushing against Louis’ neck. “No,” he giggles, “but I want to.”

Louis breathes in through his mouth, focusing on the flames instead of Harry’s hand that is further away from his knee than, well. It’s been awhile since Louis' had action other than listening to Zayn and Liam fuck, and he should’ve factored in the possibility of a pretty, drunk boy stumbling over him before he came all the way over here.

As if Niall heard his call, he appears with two cans of beer in hand. He gives one to Harry while grinning at Louis. “Hiya mate, you did come.”

“Told you.” Harry sticks out his tongue, pulling the tab off his beer. He tilts his head back, chugging half of it at once. Louis finds himself both relieved and disappointed over the removal of his hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, reaching for the can. “Simmer down there, would you?”

Harry complies and stops drinking. When he pulls the can away, a bit of beer drips down his chin. He grins at Louis. “You want it?”

“Sure.” Louis grabs it and takes a sip, more to keep it from Harry than to enjoy it himself. He keeps it cradled in his hand on his side furthest away from Harry. Give it a few seconds and he’ll have forgotten all about it.

Niall’s taken the guitar onto his lap, stealing its place next to Harry. He strums a few chords, staring off into the fire. Louis can tell by the look in his eyes and the droop in his features that he’s had a quite a bit to drink too. Though something tells Louis that he’s a little better, and a little more experienced, at handling his alcohol than Harry.

Niall mouths along to whatever it is that he’s strumming, but Louis can’t place the melody right away. Harry seems to, joining in to sing out of tune, “I wanna hold your hand! I wanna hold your haaaand. I wanna hold your hand.” He begins to rock back and forth, a dopey smile on his face. Niall raises his voice, and sings along. “And when I touch you, I feel happy inside, it’s such a feeling…la la la, I can’t hiiiide!”

Despite being drunk and all over the place, Louis can tell that Harry has a nice voice, raw and soothing. Added to the glow of the fire flickering over his soft features, Louis very nearly reaches over to press his hand to his cheek, to tuck a curl behind his ear. He refrains though, of course, and Harry turns to smile at Louis again, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He rests his head against Louis’ shoulder and leaves it there.

“You tired?” Louis asks.

“No.”

Louis takes the lie. Though he figures it’ll be no more than a half an hour before he’s dozing off, and Louis will have to struggle with maneuvering him through the dark field back to his house.  

“Mmph,” Harry whines after a moment. Louis doesn’t even have the chance to ask what the problem is before Harry’s grabbing his arm and awkwardly trying to force it around his shoulder. “ _Louis,_ cuddle me.”

“Uh.” Louis blanks, but leaves his arm hanging off Harry’s shoulder while he buries his head into his neck, a curl tickling his cheek. He’s a little lost on what to do. He’d like to keep on cuddling Harry - you know, do the nice friend thing by comforting him and all, but he’s also aware there are a couple dozen teenagers running around who might wonder why Harry is cuddling a bloke. _Louis_ is wondering why he’s cuddling a bloke.

Louis hopes that his silent ‘help me’ plea is clear to Niall, but he only grins, returning to stare at the fire without any help at all. Louis glances around to see if anyone is staring, but everyone seems to be in their own world, laughing or yelling or dancing or kissing. Then, near the edge of the trees, he spots Abigail, watching them with a heavy eye. Louis looks down at his feet.

“Harry,” Louis says softly, shaking his shoulder, “how about we go for a walk?”

Harry blinks up at him, considering, and then nods fervently. “Yeah. Okay. Walk, sure.”

Louis’ arm drops from around Harry’s shoulder as he stands, extending a hand to help him up. Harry stumbles, useless on his own feet. To steady himself, he lays two firm hands on Louis' chest, but he lingers longer than necessary, their faces close. Louis tries to recall if most straight blokes are this touchy when drunk, but he can’t remember the last time he was with one. Secondary, most likely, but he definitely doesn’t remember touches quite like these, and he feels like he probably would have.

Louis holds onto Harry’s shoulder to help him get back on solid footing, and then instantly steps away. He tells Niall they’re going for a walk, hoping the look on his face illustrates the ‘and going home’ that he can’t say out loud in case Harry overhears and refuses. But once again, Niall seems to miss it as he winks and says, “A walk. Alright. Have fun, lads.”

Harry’s already stumbling away, so Louis rushes after him before he can make sense of Niall’s wink.

Getting out of the bush and into the clearing is the hardest part, meandering over tree trunks and branches. Louis walks behind Harry, guiding him with a hand on his hip and the other holding the flashlight. He tries to keep as much distance between them as he can, but every once and awhile Harry will go stumbling back, arse bumping into Louis' crotch. Louis' getting him home and then very purposely ignoring him for a week.

“Let’s go to the train track,” Harry says with a delighted gasp, like it’s the best idea he’s come up with all night.

“No, Harry. We’re not going to the train track.”

“Why not?” he pouts.

“Because it’s one in the morning. What would we even do there? Plus, there’s no road that way. Let’s go to the cottages, maybe the chickens are out.” He’s lying, but Harry doesn’t need to know that. If he’s drunk enough not to realize the chickens wouldn’t be out in the middle of the night, then what’s a little white lie? By the time they make it to the road, Harry won’t even notice that they’re turning in the opposite direction of the cottages and towards the village instead.

Out on the field, once moving to his side, Harry instantly reaches out to hook an arm through Louis’ as if on instinct. It’s needed, as he trips and stumbles on even this fairly level ground, his weight heavy against Louis' side. Harry’s going on about an earlier argument with his dad - at least that’s what Louis _thinks_ he’s talking about as he can’t understand much over his slurs and mumbling.

When they reach the road, Harry nudges his face against Louis’ warm and let out a throaty whine. “Louis, I’m so pissed. How do you do this?”

“What? Handle my alcohol?”

Harry’s response comes in the form of another whine. Louis turns them towards the bridge, and as expected, Harry doesn’t mention the cottages being behind them. Instead, he says, “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Well, you’re already drunk so you might as well just enjoy it.”

“God, this is all your fault,” he cries.

“How is this _my_ fault?”

“You were the one that said that it’s like, a right or something, that I need to get drunk and snog someone and puke. And look. It’s your fault.”

“Well, you didn’t snog anyone and you haven’t puked, so you’re still good,” Louis offers.

“Abigail.”

“What?” Louis asks, tripping over his steps.

Harry whines into the air and doesn’t elaborate.

“You kissed Abigail?”

“I’m feeling a little - a little dizzy. I’m dizzy. Can we sit? Please? For a second?” Harry doesn’t wait for an answer as he crouches on the side of the road, sitting on his arse and pulling his legs to his chest.

Louis looks, considers, and eventually sits down next to him. He waits a few more seconds, then rests a hand on Harry’s back, rubbing circles.

“You think I’m such a kid.”

“No, I don’t think that,” Louis says honestly.

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods firmly, reaching out to squeeze Louis' knee. “Thank you for coming to see me. That was very nice of you, Louis.”

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

Harry lets out a heavy breath and tilts his head back, looking up towards the night sky. Louis joins in while his hands slide to massage his neck soothingly. There are scattered clouds, so there aren’t many stars to see, but a few peek out from underneath the thin sheets.

Three girls pass by, giggling and stumbling down the gravel road. They exchange hellos before they disappear down the curling path to where houses and streetlights greet them.

“Are you feeling okay?” Louis asks softly after a few minutes pass. He drops his hand from Harry’s neck to his lower back, resting just above his hip.

Suddenly and without warning, Harry’s face is in his, but Louis jerks away quickly enough that his lips catch his jaw instead. “Harry, what are you - ” He turns back to stare at him, stunned, heart lurching inside his ribcage.

Harry’s face crumples, eyes going wide. Louis imagines that in the light, he’d be able to see his skin turn white, then bright red. “Oh my - oh god. I’m sorry,” he says instantly, throwing his hand over his mouth. “You hate me. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“I don’t hate you,” Louis says carefully, still shocked and a little confused, voice barely making it above a whisper. Harry won’t even remember this in the morning. Remember trying to - did Harry just really try to _kiss him?_ “You’re just really pissed right now, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to - well.”

Harry bobs his head up and down thoroughly, and even in the dark, Louis can see where his eyebrows are bunched together. There’s a long pause before he says, “Would you kiss me if I was sober?”

“Um,” Louis says, fumbling for a response. “I don’t know,” he gets out eventually. “I don’t think you’d be kissing me, that’s for sure.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Okay then,” Louis stammers, “well then, you let me know then.”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward pause, though Louis suspects he might be the only one affected as Harry seems to have very little of an idea as to what is actually going on, what he tried to do, and what he insinuated for later on. Despite having this minor, insignificant crush, Louis had never stopped to think about the possibility of Harry being gay. He supposes he just didn’t want to go there - didn’t even want to entertain the fact. Subjecting himself to a crush on the reverend’s son was dangerous enough, he didn’t want to dig himself in any further by thinking he might have even the slightest of chances. But now, well. This complicates things. Though, if Harry’s claims of kissing Abigail were true, he could just be the type of drunk to kiss anyone and anything.

“Should I get you home now?”

“I can’t go home. Are you crazy?” Harry snaps, shoving Louis’ arm.

“Right,” Louis says. “Okay, well, I guess you’re coming to my house then.”

Harry nods, shoulders relaxing, seemingly pleased with this answer. He rearranges himself onto his hands and knees to try and push himself up. Louis scrambles onto his feet, but by the time he goes to help him, Harry’s already standing. It takes him a few seconds to get solid footing, looking like he might fall back down, so Louis cautiously reaches for his hip to steady him.

They barely make it two steps before Harry suddenly stops in his tracks, bends down, and pukes.

*

The next morning Louis awakes to no comforter and a mop of curls to his right. Harry’s face is smushed into a pillow, blankets cocooned around his long frame. Louis considers stealing them right back, but he takes in the soft light trickling in through his curtains and decides against it, creeping out of bed, careful as not to wake Harry.

He spends ten minutes in the toilet, half hard, splashing cold water on his face while thinking of vaginas and Harry puking. Once his erection’s gone down, he heads upstairs with the sole intention of making Harry some toast and coffee while avoiding anyone else. Unfortunately, his mum is already up, doing a crossword and sipping her own coffee at the island.

Louis mumbles a hi and busies himself with the toast, thankful that at least the coffee has already been made. All hopes that his mum slept through their banging around last night are dashed when she asks, “Louis, what was all that noise last night?”

“Oh, I had a bit to drink and Harry helped me home,” he lies casually, popping slices of bread into the toaster. She makes a humming sound underneath her breath, but Louis doesn’t have to turn to see the look of disappointment - but not shock - on her face. It’s hardly an unlikely situation, having happened so often in his youth that by the time he was sixteen, his mum had stopped asking all together. The only thing she has to be disappointed about now is that Louis seemingly dragged the reverend’s son into it.

Downstairs, Harry is still fast asleep, his entire body now starfished across the mattress. Louis keeps the thought that he looks beautiful while asleep to a simple acknowledgement. Admiring the way the light falls on his curls and eyelashes in just the right way is hardly a way to rid of what’s supposed to be a minor, insignificant crush.

The original plan had been to let Harry take his bed while he slept on the couch, getting up to check on him every so often to make sure that he didn’t puke again. He figured he wouldn’t get much sleep that way, but it was better than trying to share a bed with Harry after he had tried to kiss him - and, sure enough, waking up with an awkward boner. But Harry had stopped him, whining loudly enough that Louis gave in before his mum _definitely_ woke up and came down to check on them.

Louis sets the balanced mugs and plate of toast on the nightstand beside Harry’s head. He reaches for him, shaking his shoulder softly. “Hey, wake up. It’s after ten.”

Harry stirs, then moans, one eye cracking open to peer at Louis. He squints at him briefly, appearing confused, before moaning again, this time in more pain. He rolls over onto his stomach, covering his face.

“I brought some coffee and toast.”

“Not. Eating.”

“You should though,” Louis insists. “It’s just toast with some butter. It’ll help soak up the leftover alcohol.”

“Can’t eat,” he says again, muffled into the pillow. “Gonna puke.”

Louis sighs, but continues to stand there, staring at the mess of Harry’s curls. Eventually, he takes his own coffee and makes his way around to the other side of the bed, sitting down on the edge and waiting patiently.

Louis manages a few sips of his coffee before Harry rolls onto his back, very careful, as if every small movement is torture. “I don’t even remember coming here,” he says.

 _Good,_ Louis thinks. _Then you probably don’t remember trying to kiss me._ “Not surprising,” is what he says instead. “You were pretty pissed.”

“What a stupid idea,” he whines. “I’m never drinking again.”

“It’s what we all say.”

Harry doesn’t respond, palm rubbing circles into his forehead. After a few moments, his eyes pop open, alarmed. “Does your mum know?”

“No, she heard you banging around last night, but I lied and said it was me.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Louis shrugs, taking another sip of his coffee. “It’s okay. It’s nothing new, anyway. Honestly, I get in less trouble this way. If she found out you were the one that was drunk, she’d blame it on me.”

Harry forces himself to sit up, wincing as he rests his back against the wall and reaches for his own mug. He takes the smallest of sips, pulling a face as he does so. “Thanks though. And thanks for letting me sleep here, and I guess for coming to rescue my drunk arse.”

Louis shrugs again. “No worries. I’ve been in that position many a time. Usually a lot worse too.”

Harry chuckles dully, burying his face into his coffee.

Louis waits a few minutes, wondering if he should even bring it up. He has a feeling it’s not something that Harry wants to hear, but he figures issuing him a warning before someone else does might be appreciated later on. It has nothing to do with his own burning curiosity. Honest. “You told me you kissed Abigail.”

Harry blinks at him, cheeks draining of colour in an instant. “Did I?” A moment lingers before he slaps his free hand over his face, cursing in realization. “Shit, I did.”

“You don’t like her?” Louis asks delicately.

“It’s not - I just - ” He shakes his head. “No, not like that.”

“Oh,” Louis says, feigning disinterest by picking lint on his joggers. “Does she like you?”

“Yes. Well, she did, at least. I get the feeling she still does.” He groans. “God, what a right bastard I was.”

“I’m sure she realized how pissed you were,” Louis offers in a lame attempt to comfort him.

“Doesn’t matter. We dated once. For a little bit, a few years back,” he explains. “I broke up with her and we were just starting to become friends again, but I screwed it up.”

And there we go - it all makes more sense. The _not really my girlfriend_ , the touches and the laughter on her end, the heavy stare from across the fire. Yet Louis still has so many questions, mostly stemming from the kiss Harry tried to give _him_. He supposes he could make a joke about it, how Harry was so pissed that he even tried to kiss him, but his throat tightens at the idea.

Louis wants to know all the details. He wants to know why Harry broke up with her - is he not attracted to her? Does she have some awful personality trait that Louis hasn’t witnessed? Is it because she’s a girl? Does Harry even know himself? And what about Niall’s wink? Did that even mean anything, or is Louis just looking into it too deeply? Louis doesn’t ask any of it - instead, he settles for, “You don’t know that you screwed it up.”

He shrugs, saying nothing else as he reaches for a piece of now-cold toast. He eyes it suspiciously before bringing it to his lips and taking a tiny bite, looking like he dreads every chew until the inevitable swallow. He forces down half the slice before shaking his head in utter disgust, depositing the rest back onto the plate. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He exhales soundly, resting his cheek on his knee and glancing over at Louis. “I wonder if this will get back to my parents.”

“Would they really be that mad?” Louis asks even though he already strongly suspects the answer.

Harry looks thoughtful before concluding, “Disappointed, definitely. Sometimes that’s even worse.”

Louis understands. He remembers the last few months of secondary all too well. It had been all hush-hush before, the scoffs and the aggravation towards him and his mates for coming to class high or arriving home way past curfew, drunk and reeking of weed. At that time, Louis found their disapproval funny - he liked pushing their buttons and breaking out of the cookie-cutter, Christian way of life. He and all of his friends did; they lived for their reprimands and to make them squirm. But after, when the disappointment and the disgust came, it was a different story. The way the reverend and the men of the parish council looked down at him in disdain, disappointed that he had fallen so far down the _other path_. They had tried so hard, they said, but Louis, they could help him, bring him back to Christ’s way of life. But it wouldn’t be easy. He would need the love and mercy of the Lord, and that alone would save him from his wretched path of sin and destruction.

Then, there was his mother. Their relationship had been on a steady decline for years before that, but the news was the last brick to be taken, causing the entire sham to crumble. It wasn’t only the disappointment in her eyes, but the betrayal, like Louis' actions had more to do with her and the family, with ruining _her_ image, than it did him. It was always about how it affected her, never Louis. She never stopped to think that he could be hurting - from his loss or the embarrassment or the blatant disgust from the high members of the community, for him to be put on display for all to judge. To her, he was only acting out to punish her for her past doings, for his own sick amusement. She never once asked, so Louis never told her. He pretended it didn’t matter, and eventually, she went on to pretend that it never happened.

Fortunately for Harry, his night out doesn’t get back to his parents, and Abigail takes the apology for the lack of intent in the kiss surprisingly easily. Unfortunately for Louis, nothing is ever said about Harry’s attempt to kiss him, nor is there any sign that he even remembers, so Louis keeps it to himself. While he doubts there was very little tangibility in Harry’s alcohol-soaked words, he goes over them repeatedly, like they might offer him clues as to whether their was any meaning behind them at all. Eventually, Louis gives in and calls Zayn.

Besides a few texts, he and Zayn haven’t spoken properly since Louis left. It’s strange when he thinks about it, considering the original plan was to call him for weekly whining sessions. Zayn fill him in first, and Louis endures talk of him and Liam’s domesticity, including trips to Liam’s parents’ houses and debates about which colour to paint their cupboards and whether they should get a puppy or kitten. Louis' not one for skirting around the subject, or even easing into it, because the first thing he says when Zayn is done is, “Hey, do you remember Harry Styles?”

There’s a pause while Zayn thinks it over. “Uh, yeah, I think,” he says. “The reverend’s kid, right? Gemma’s younger brother. What about him?”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“Okay.”

“I kind of maybe developed a little, tiny crush on him,” he rushes out in one breath.

There’s another pause before Zayn’s harsh laughter fills the line. “What? Mate, seriously?”

“Okay, first, he’s not that little fourteen-year-old that you’re thinking of,” he says defensively. “Shit, he like, really grew up. If you saw him, you’d get it. He’s incredibly fit now, like enough that it’s unfair.” He pauses, rethinking. “He’s still a nerd though. But like, a cool nerd? He’s surprisingly unchurchy for who his father is.”

Zayn’s still laughing, but he stops long enough to say, “You certainly have a knack for picking the absolute worst people to fall for.”

Louis huffs. He _is_ right, after all. “Anyway, the reason I’m telling you this is because we’ve been hanging out quite a lot. And this weekend he got drunk, and I went to go get him from the river, and - well, he tried to kiss me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I guess I’m just - confused. I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t decide if it’s even worth thinking about. I mean, he also snogged his ex-girlfriend earlier. I’m driving myself nutty. Do I say something about it? Because I’m worried he was just really pissed, and bringing it up might make him embarrassed and it really awkward between us. He’s made being here actually kind of, a little bit bearable, and I’d hate to lose that just because I’m lusting after the bloke and looking for something in his drunk actions, you know?” He sighs, releasing a small whine from the back of his throat. “Zayn, help me.”

“Well, okay, first off, what happened after he tried to kiss you?”

“He asked if I’d kiss him when he’s sober, and I said to let me know when he is. I was with him the next morning, and saw him for a bit yesterday, but so far, he’s said nothing or even like, _hinted_ that he remembers.”

“Alright, well…hmm.” He stops, stumped. “How much do you like this bloke? Like a lot?”

“I don’t know,” Louis fumbles, feeling the tips of his ears burn red. “A little.” He sighs, shaking his head at the lie, and corrects himself. “Okay, like…maybe a little more than that. It’s not like, butterflies or any bullshit like that, but I really like being around him. We get on really well, and he’s super fit. I don’t know…I feel like, happy around him,” he ends lamely, the heat from his ears spreading all the way to his cheeks and down his neck. He’s never been more thankful not to have Zayn in front of him than in this very moment.

“Christ, Louis. You’re in love with the reverend's son, you absolute knob.”

Louis scoffs. “Shut it, would you? It’s hardly love. I’d just really like to put my mark on all that pure skin.”

“Love.”

“ _No._ ”

“After marking that skin you want to snuggle and talk about your feelings and make him eggs on toast.”

“Absolutely not,” Louis gasps, appalled. “Zayn, you are not helping me here at all.”

He laughs again, and something in Louis' chest tugs at the sound, despite his jeers. Louis misses him more than he realized. Before he’d left London, they hadn’t been apart for more than two weeks since Louis was twelve. They’ve been a little codependent, to say to least. Well, had been, before Liam came along and so elegantly swooped into Louis’ place. But he loves Liam, really, and Louis understands that he tends to provide Zayn with a little more action than the few sloppy, inexperienced blowjobs Louis gave him as youths, so he supposes it’s fair.

“Sorry, Lou, but I think you should just wait it out for a little, as long as you’re okay with the idea that you might not ever be able to corrupt his virgin soul. If he’s really into blokes, or more importantly, you, I think there’s only so long that he’ll be able to hide it. If not, just take it for what it was, him being pissed. You are quite pretty, you know, he might’ve been confused by your sweeping locks and luscious lips.”   

“Bugger off,” he says, though his chest warms at the compliment.

Zayn laughs. “All I’m saying is that it’s best to be careful when it comes to possibly straight blokes. Especially if you’re quite fond of his friendship.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs in defeat, “you’re right.”

“That being said, he could be. Into blokes, that is, but his dad is the bloody reverend, can’t imagine that’d be easy. My suggestion is don’t give up all hope, but don’t push it either.” He chuckles, and adds, “And speaking from experience, no one is better to give the first taste of gay than you are, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis snorts. “Thanks, Z, I’m flattered.”

“Anytime, Tommo.”

Louis fills him in on the rest of his time spent in Holmes Chapel, though there’s not much to tell besides that he mainly serves beer to old people, he still hates three-quarters of the population, and the tension between his mum and him is still alive as ever. When they hang up, it’s because Liam has arrived home with dinner. The twinge of loneliness is immediate, something he hasn’t felt to this extent since breaking up with Aiden and having to endure Zayn and Liam’s sickeningly sweet coupledom on a daily, firsthand basis. Louis was hardly in love with Zayn, even when they were fooling around as youths, but he had been jealous over their relationship from the beginning. Not only because Liam took his place as Zayn’s right hand man, but because there was such ease and adoration in their relationship that Louis yearned for for himself - that he searched for but never quite matched, not even with Aiden.

He feels silly when Harry trickles into his mind, like he could ever even hope for someone like him to return home with a kiss and Chinese food while their cat circles their feet. He’s an eighteen-year-old church kid, and Louis is _insane._

As if Harry is able to sense his thoughts from across town, Louis' phone beeps a few minutes later, Harry’s name flashing on the screen. _wanna go for a walk?_

Louis considers, weighing his options. It’s either that, or he sits here in his room and sulks over his perpetual loneliness. _meet you at the bridge in 10_ , he types back before throwing on a sweater and grabbing a granola bar from the kitchen.

Harry’s already there when Louis approaches, sitting on the railing of the bridge, long legs dangling and toes nearly touching the wooden planks. He’s wearing another beanie, this time it’s a rich green, bringing out the colour of Harry’s eyes in a way that leaves Louis nearly breathless. He offers the same grin as always, but something in it seems forced, a little less sincere. Louis immediately wants to reach out and ask what’s wrong, but he keeps his hands planted inside his sweater pockets, nerves eating away at his stomach.

“Hey, Lou.” Harry jumps down, hands instantly tugging at and adjusting his beanie.

“Hi, Harry. You alright?”

He shrugs. “Just wanted to go for a walk. Maybe past the cottages and to the lake?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The five minute walk to the cottages is a quiet one; Harry walking close enough that his arm brushes against Louis' elbow with nearly every stride. It’s a nice evening, clouds scattered above, but the strip of sky where the sun is lowering into is clear, faintly coloured in pinks and golds. It’s getting warmer out, the first breaths of summer, the quiet song of the few birds that have already returned emanating from within the trees. Louis tries to think of the moment as anything other than romantic, but it proves to be difficult.

The cluster of cottages remain just as quiet, still too early in the season for guests, but the glow from the owner’s home and the dim streetlamps will keep it lit once the sun sets. “Maybe we should just hang around here, by the horses,” Louis suggests. “I didn’t bring a flashlight and once the sun is down it’ll be impossible to find our way back.”

Harry shrugs, seemingly in agreement as he wanders past the guest cottages to where the stable and pasture lay. A few horses are grazing, including a mother and her foal on the far end where the fence and forest meet.

Harry takes a seat on a large log meant to be a bench, Louis following close behind, consciously leaving space between them. Harry remains quiet, something unusual for him, and the bothered expression on his face does no more to calm Louis' nerves. He knows it’s ridiculous for him to automatically assume it’s about him, that he did something wrong, but Harry’s only ever been bright and happy with him. He doesn’t know any different.

“Hey,” he asks quietly, cautious, “are you all right?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together, but he nods. “Yeah,” he says, distracted, like Louis interrupted a serious task of very deep thought. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You seem - tense.”

“Oh, no. I’m okay. Just - ” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, “You know, things in my head.”

“You mean thoughts?” Louis says, teasing, hoping to lighten the mood.

Harry doesn’t follow along though, doesn’t even chuckle. “Yeah. Thinking.”

“About what?”

Harry pauses, frowning again like he’s drowning within his thoughts, but in the end he shakes his head and says, “Nothing. Nothing, it’s silly.” He turns to Louis and plasters on another fake smile. “How are you?”

“I’m - uh. I’m good.”

“Good. Yeah.” His gaze falls across the field towards the horses, but Louis watches him for a moment longer, taking in his expression. He appears to be so lost in thought that it’s nearly painful. Did Louis do something? He wracks his brain, looking for something he might’ve said or done the last time they hung out. Did he give himself away? Does Harry know he likes him, and now he’s weirded out? Does he remember trying to kiss Louis, and what Louis said back?

Louis follows his gaze across the sun-kissed pasture, thinking of all the ways he can rectify the situation without actually knowing what he did, while Harry sits silent next to him.

He’s not entirely sure how long they sit there before Harry clears his throat. “Hey, um, how did you - ” He stops and frowns, lines carved deep into his forehead. “You and Zayn, how did you - I mean, how did that start? How did you know each other was - you know, gay?”

“Uh - ” Louis flounders, taken aback. Of all the possible things he had imagined coming out of Harry’s mouth, that was not one of them. It takes him a moment to process and consider the question, and Harry doesn’t look at him while he does, still staring out across the pasture in what appears to be heavy concentration. “Well, honestly, this is going to sound really weird, but when we were fourteen we would watch porn together. It was straight porn, but at that age, it doesn’t really matter what you’re watching. As long as there’s some skin and any form of penetration, you’re good to go.” He laughs a little, but it sounds just as awkward and nervous as he feels. He was hoping for some form of a response from Harry, but to no avail. He shakes past it, and forces himself to continue.

“Um, but yeah, initially all we’d do is just watch it, but then after awhile we started to like, wank off. Not each other, but in the same room, together. At that point we really should’ve clued in that straight blokes don’t normally do that, or maybe they do, I don’t really know. But we did that for like, shit, I don’t know. A long time, before I started to realize that I was always looking at the man, and sometimes, other blokes from school would talk about porn, or watch two girls, and I realized that, yeah, I was watching it in a completely different way. Anyway, we would like, look at each other while doing it, and then one day, I think we were sixteen, I just reached over and wanked him off myself. It all went from there, really. We switched to gay porn after that.”

“And was that easy for you?”

“To wank him off? Well, yes, I mean it was pretty similar to wanking myself. It was the blowjobs that - ”

“No,” Harry says, sounding slightly agitated. “No, I meant admitting you were into blokes, and like, acting on it.”

“Oh.” Louis presses his mouth shut, and attempts to take himself back to that time, to the place in his mind that he had kept locked away for so long. After a moment, he answers slowly, “Yes. I mean, me realizing took awhile on its own. There was definitely a lot of denial, and then even after that, even after I watched gay porn on my own and admitted that, yeah, I was into blokes, it took longer for me to even consider acting on it. Admitting was one thing, accepting was another.”

“Were you ever - ” Harry stops again, biting his lip in concentration before rephrasing. “Was God, or the church, part of what made it so hard?”

“Yes,” Louis says without faltering. “I mean, I was no devout Christian, but I believed in God. I considered myself to have a faith. Not only did I not want God to hate me and send me to hell, but I also did fear what the church and entire village would think of me if they somehow found out. I went through it all.”

Finally, Harry turns to look at him, eyes catching his and holding. “How did you get past that?”

Louis chuckles a little at the memory, although it’s anything but funny. “It’s going to sound silly coming from me, but I prayed actually. Well, okay, I had hissy fits directed to God. I cried and yelled and all of that, for like, two months. I mean, once I realized I knew. I knew there was no pretending or forcing myself into fancying girls or seeing them the same way I saw blokes. I begged and pleaded for God to take it away, to make me straight. I was literally sick with anxiety. Now that I think of it, I did have sex with a girl at that time, maybe that was one of the rumors you heard. I don’t know, but anyway, of course, I hated it, which made me even more depressed. And I don’t know if it was God, or if it was me that just stopped caring, but one day I woke up, and I didn’t hate myself for it anymore. It was no longer this thing, this wicked brokenness that would sent me straight to hell - it was just me. I liked blokes and that was okay. It was the best feeling in the world, having this horrible thing lifted off my chest. It was like I could breathe for the first time, like I never realized I couldn’t before.”

“Did you think it was God?”

“At the time, yes. I really did believe it was him. I felt that it was his way of telling me that he still loved me, that I wasn’t defective, that I didn’t have to change. That train of thought became a little messed up over time though. Not many others seemed to agree with me.”

All at once, Harry's face drops into his hands, back expanding and then deflating as he takes a long breath. He lets out a small noise that sounds an awful lot like a whimper. Louis instantly reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, but he decides against it at the last moment, leaving it to hover just above. “Harry,” he says, ever so carefully, “are you crying?”

Harry shakes his head, but doesn’t remove his hands from his face.

Louis relents, dropping his own hand to rest comfortingly on Harry’s shoulder, thumb rubbing circles. “What’s happening? You know you can talk to me.”

Harry lifts his head just enough to peek at Louis. His eyes are dry, but the exhaustion and helplessness are unmistakable. He shakes his head, lips pursed.

“It’s okay,” is all Louis can think to say.

Harry’s shoulder sags, just slightly, as if those simple words are enough to make him feel even marginally better. Louis’ not dense. He knows where all of this is leading, can recognize the look in Harry’s eyes as the same that haunted his for so long. But he also knows he can’t be the one to say it for him. Harry has to be the one, and Louis’ unsure of what to do or say in the meantime.

“I just don’t - how do I - “ Harry starts after a moment, fumbling. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, head tilted up like he’s counting to three. “Canyoukissmeplease?” he forces out in one breath.

Louis blinks at him in shock while Harry keeps his eyes closed and chin aimed towards the sky. Louis assumed the gay card would be pulled, but he hardly expected _that._ He wants to make sure he did, in fact, hear him properly. “Wait, _kiss_ you? Are you sure? Why?”

Harry lowers his chin but keeps his eyes closed. “I just need to - see.”

Louis contemplates with what little is left of a sound mind. Does he let Harry use him for his gay-or-not-gay test, or does he - oh, who is he kidding?

Harry finally allows his eyes to slip open, but he keeps them transfixed ahead at the nearly set sun. Louis takes a moment to admire how the dim light dances across his face, illuminating his soft features in such a beautiful, striking way. There was never a question that Harry was attractive, but there’s something in the way he sits here in now, in the pale light, all soft and vulnerable. Louis can hardly believe he’s real, that he’s able to witness him like this, let alone that he was just asked to kiss him.

While Louis is thinking all of this, Harry’s speaking in a rush, this time with his breath held. “Of course you don’t have to. I know you stopped me the last time and it’s not that I think that you even want to kiss me but it just really - it would be a lot of help to - ”

“Harry,” Louis says firmly, cutting him off before he can ramble on any further. “Look at me.”

Slowly but surely, Harry obliges. He blinks at Louis, appearing petrified.

Louis already knows that this won’t accomplish much. That if what Harry is insinuating is true, he will be gay no matter if he kisses Louis or not, just like Louis didn’t have to touch Zayn’s dick to know that he liked it. He’s not sure how to explain that gently though, nor does he want to, so he offers Harry the most comforting smile he can while his hand moves to cup the back of his neck.

Louis gives him time to back out as he flicks his eyes from Harry’s, to his mouth, and back again. He leans in impossibly slow, like they do in all those cheesy romance movies that Louis had never experienced himself until now. Up until the very last moment, Louis is still expecting that Harry will change his mind and pull away, so he’s more than a little surprised when Harry is the one to close the remaining gap, brushing their lips together hesitantly. For a moment they both stay frozen there, lips touching but motionless. Louis’ not entirely sure who’s the first to press for more, but suddenly they’re kissing for real, Harry’s hand in his hair, and this is definitely, _definitely_ not what he was expecting when he agreed to go on this walk.

He expects Harry to pull away soon after, but it doesn’t come, only kissing him harder until there are tongues and heavy breath. Harry has continuously proven him wrong since they've become friends, surprising him with his acceptance, his spontaneity, his drinking. Yet he still finds himself shocked by the ease with which Harry kisses him, and how _well_ he does it too. Shocked, but certainly not complaining.

As much as Louis had originally appreciated the beanie, he now wishes it weren’t there so he could run his fingers through Harry's curls like he’s been secretly dying to since he first saw him in the bakery. He settles with cradling his skull instead, fingers brushing underneath the hem of his hat, soft tufts brushing against his palm.

“‘m not gay,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ mouth.

“‘Kay.”

Their kisses hardly falter, Harry still warm and inviting despite his claim. Kissing Harry is quickly becoming Louis’ favourite thing like, ever, and he sincerely prays that this isn’t just a one-time thing. And _if_ it is, he’d like to get as much out of it as he can while it’s happening, so much that he’d gladly trade breath over it.

Louis can feel a small smile against his lips. “Maybe a little gay.”

“‘Kay,” he says, mouth mirroring Harry’s.

“I still like girls.”

Louis doesn’t respond this time, just kisses him harder and banishes the thought of spreading him out against the grass and peeling off his clothes. _One step at a time, Louis._

Harry's quiet after that, and with time, the intensity of their kissing lessens, until Harry is pulling back with a few dry pecks, much to Louis’ dismay. Louis keeps Harry’s head in his hand in an attempt to hold his gaze. Harry stares back, and while he looks slightly frightened, it’s less than Louis might’ve expected. It takes everything in Louis not to lean in again, with the way Harry’s lips are swollen and wet, laboured breaths pouring between.

Harry leans forward, dropping his head against Louis’ collar. He whines into his chest, hot breath soaking into Louis’ clothes. “I don’t like girls,” he mumbles so quietly that Louis has to strain to hear.

Louis sighs, resting his hand over the top of Harry’s beanie. “How do you feel?” he asks gently.

He’s silent while he considers. “I don’t know.”

“Confused?”

“Not in the way I would’ve thought,” he admits. He elaborates by saying, “I’m not confused about liking blokes. I’m confused about the other stuff.” He lifts his head from Louis’ chest so he can blink up at him. “But I don’t really want to think about that right now.”

“That’s okay,” Louis says. “One step at a time, right?”

Harry nods with a small smile. “Right.”

The sun has set now, but a dim light still paints the horizon, though soon enough they will be almost entirely in darkness. Louis’ hand drops from Harry’s head, and they sit close as he allows it all to sink in. He wonders what Harry is thinking, but he doesn’t ask.

“Well,” Harry starts eventually, the first to break the silence, “thanks for, you know, doing that.” He appears a little embarrassed, the pink in his cheeks visible.

Louis is about to say, _anytime,_ but he figures that might be too presumptuous so instead he says, “Yeah, of course.”

It’s not that Louis feels necessarily awkward, but he’s uncertain as to where they go from here. Harry said he doesn’t want to think about it, but does Louis ask anyway? Do they talk about something else? Do they kiss more? Do they sit in silence until they decide to head home? Louis can’t remember the last time he kissed someone without having a clue of what it meant.

The silence drags on, Louis waiting for Harry to say something, _anything_ as to what he’s thinking - how long he’s known, what he thinks of Louis. Nothing comes, and Louis eventually speaks up by saying, “Well, it’s getting late, maybe we should go back. I haven’t even eaten supper yet.”

Harry turns to look at him as if snapping out of a daze, and he nods loosely, “Oh, okay. Sure.”

Louis stands first, offering Harry a hand to pull him up. They stand close, and for a brief moment Louis considers leaning in for another kiss, but he decides against it at the last moment, stepping out of Harry’s space. He doesn’t want to push it, whatever _it_ may be.

Harry blinks while Louis turns away, heading back towards the cottages’ well-lit path. He feels Harry’s warmth follow close behind. Louis tortures himself trying to find words to fill the quiet space as they head back towards town, but nothing comes. He should be offering comfort, words to let Harry know he understands, that he’s not alone, but he feels entirely useless.

They pause at the crossroads, where they separate to head to their respective homes. They both look at each other awkwardly, unsure as to how to part now that they’ve crossed the purely platonic line.

Harry acts first, reaching forward to wrap his arms around Louis in a hug. It’s short, but he holds tight, the only hug they’ve shared aside from when Harry was drunk. Louis hugs him back, enjoying his warmth and the way he fits snug along Harry's front. Now that houses are all around them, kissing is definitely out of the question.

When they pull away Harry keeps his hand on Louis’ shoulder, squeezing briefly before returning it to his side. “See you soon, yeah?” he asks like somehow that might not be a possibility.

“Yeah, I’ll text you?”

Harry nods, corners of his mouth turned up slightly, appearing pleased with that answer. “Okay.”

As Harry turns to leave, Louis reaches out without thought, tugging on his wrist. Harry looks back at him as Louis offers a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” is all he says. All he can say.

Harry looks him over, seemingly weighing his words as if they were more deep and eloquent than they actually were. He eventually nods, returning a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Louis nods, dropping his wrist. He stands there watching until Harry turns the corner, disappearing out of sight.

 


	3. sloth

“Quick, run, save yourself before she sees you,” is the first thing Louis says when he opens the door to find Harry standing on his front steps, a brownie platter in hand.

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes past him into the hallway.

Louis sighs, staring wistfully out across the dimly lit street. He’s very seriously considering running away himself. “You’re going to regret it,” he says eventually, closing the door in defeat.

“It’s just dinner, Louis.”

He shrugs. “You’ll see.”

Harry hands him the brownies while he shrugs off his coat, throwing it onto the disastrous pile of jackets next to the closet. Louis thinks that there might be a coat rack hidden underneath them all, but he hasn’t seen it since ‘03.

Before joining Louis’ family in the living room, there’s a fleeting moment where they stop to look at each other, still enough that even their breath seems absent. Louis’ not certain if they’re preparing for the evening, or whether there’s a question in Harry’s eyes that he can’t read; all he really knows is that he feels awkward. Incredibly so, and awkward is not something Louis usually does.

He’s seen Harry exactly twice since The Kiss. The first time was two days after, when Harry showed up at his work to walk home with him. Harry acted way more normally than Louis would’ve expected - the only marked difference was that he somehow appeared even more chipper and talkative than usual. The Kiss was not brought up, not even the slightest acknowledgement, which confirmed in Louis’ head that it was only ever meant to be a one-time thing. As the elder by four years and the veteran homosexual, he supposes the right thing to do would’ve been to ask how he was feeling after his very first male kiss, but all he could hear was Zayn telling him not to push it, so he kept his mouth shut. He told himself that when Harry was ready to talk, he would come to him.

The second time Louis saw him was today at church, when his mother practically pounced on him and invited him to dinner without Louis’ consent. He should’ve expected this sooner. Harry had been over a lot in this past month, but they somehow managed to avoid the formal dinner situation - until now. Louis had put forth a lot of time and effort to avoid his mother’s over-attention and preening.

Louis will never know how long the stare between them would’ve lasted had his mum not come rushing over, breaking the eye contact to pull Harry into a hug. “Hi, darling,” she beams, “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Yes, thank you so much for inviting me, Mrs. Deakin.”

“Well, I had to thank you somehow for keeping Louis from moping around the house all summer.”

Louis brushes past them without even the slightest of fake smiles, taking the brownies with him. On the way, he digs his fingers under the cellophane and takes one, stuffing it into his mouth in one bite. Eating his feelings, some may call it.

The dinner is just as painful as expected. Every female in his household chatters away to Harry, often overlapping each other with increasingly high-pitched voices while Louis and Dan keep their head in their chicken and peas. Even Louis’ cat spends the dinner stretched out on top of Harry’s feet. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t even bat an eyelash. He takes it all in stride, grinning and laughing and offering compliments just as easily as he tells naff jokes. He’s a charmer, all right, and Louis can’t tell if he’s jealous that his family seems to like Harry more than they like him, or if he’s just straight up annoyed with the entire situation. More specifically, annoyed by his mother’s smile, painted on like the rest of her appearance. He knows that when she looks at him she doesn’t see Harry, Louis’ friend, she sees Harry, Reverend Styles’ son, and that nearly bothers him more than any of the other wrongs he’s held against her.

After dinner, Harry naturally helps load the dishwasher, despite his mother’s objections. Louis watches from around the corner, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. He wonders what she could be feeding Harry in hopes that he’ll report it back to his father.

Lottie sidles up next to him, bumping him with her hip. “Chill out. You look like you might explode,” she says in a hushed tone.

“She’s just so fucking infuriating. How do you do it?”

“The same way you did it,” she supplies easily. “Despite everything, she’s still our mum. She could be worse.”

“She’s practically salivating. Do you reckon she’s telling him all about her various charities? Reiterating the fact that she was just a poor, young widow with two children, and how the church took her in and helped her find the Lord and saved her life?” he asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lottie snorts.

“It’s just so typical of her to invite Harry over here to promote face. He’s not just the reverend's son. He’s his own person. It’s insulting, you know?”

She turns to him and smiles, eyes sparkling in amusement. “It’s sweet that you’re so protective over him, and I admit mum can be over the top at times, but I think you’re overreacting a tad. Maybe she really does just want to get to know him as your only friend here.”

“She never cared to know Zayn,” Louis murmurs bitterly.  

“Yes, she did, and you know it. He was always over for dinner until you started forbidding him from doing so.”

Louis snaps his mouth shut, stubborn yet defeated. Lottie has a point that he does not care to acknowledge. His bitterness is a comfort that he’s come to know too well. It’s the only thing left holding him and his mum together.

As soon as Harry finishes with the dishes, Louis all but kidnaps him, ushering him downstairs before the words _board game_  can even be uttered. He nearly considers locking his bedroom door behind them, but decides against it once he realizes that Harry might notice and get the wrong impression - or the right one, seeing as Louis wouldn’t exactly be opposed to any activities requiring the locking of the door.

Harry goes straight for Louis’ bed, climbing into the middle to rest his back against the wall, legs fanned out across the mattress. Normally, that’s not something that would’ve bothered Louis, as they’ve often sat on his bed with his laptop propped on their legs. But he hesitates now, unsure as to where the line is between them. He opts for his desk chair and turns it towards Harry.

There’s definitely a question in Harry’s eyes, but Louis doesn’t know what the question is, so he blinks back wordlessly.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Harry ends up saying.

Louis snorts. “It’s okay, you don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry says earnestly. He looks over Louis, eyebrows knitted together. “Why do you dislike your mum so much?”

“It’s not like I dislike her. It’s just - the past. Things I haven’t quite forgiven her for.”

“Like what?”

Louis pauses, fumbling for a way to answer without revealing things he’s not ready to divulge. “She’s been disappointed in me for awhile,” he says. “Things she said and did in her disappointment. I’m always questioning her motives, always seeing the things she does as a way to make herself look better and more holy than she really is. She’s nervous over our friendship, nervous I’ll fuck it up like I always do, but at the same time she loves it, loves that it gives her the opportunity to play the best, Christian mum so you can report it back to your father.”  

“Why would she think you’d fuck it up?”

Louis shrugs. “She thinks that I’ll corrupt you or something, I’m sure. Or even that our friendship is an inevitable part of my plan to embarrass her. She thinks everything I do is solely to embarrass her and tarnish the family’s reputation.”

“Is it?” Harry asks, far too casually.

“No, and if you’re asking whether I’m using our friendship to ultimately embarrass her, I’m not,” Louis says defensively, feeling a bit hurt that Harry even had to ask.  

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t.” He cracks a grin, head tilted to the side and eyes shining. “What about the corrupting bit?”

“I - ” Louis flushes. “That wasn’t my intention. I never - if you think - ”

Harry grins wider, face nearly splitting as he chuckles in amusement. “I don’t. Though there could be a case made for it. Drinking, the snogging…”  

“Hey,” Louis argues, “that was all you, I never - ”

“I know,” Harry says, still smiling.

Louis snaps his mouth shut and narrows his eyes at Harry for causing so much discomfort. For the way he’s able to leave him so utterly flustered, and so effortlessly, in a way no one else has before. Louis is not usually the uncomfortable or awkward type. He’s always been the confident one, smooth in his flirting and come-ons, taking anything that comes to him, calm and cool and with ease. He doesn’t know how this kid, this eighteen-year-old kid with very little knowledge of the real world and how things work, is able to get under his skin in a way that sticks.

Harry’s smile fades, but the corners of his mouth stay turned up, as if forced, chiseled into his expression by nerves. “Why haven’t you kissed me again?”

Louis’ eyes blink wide open, gut clenching. “What?” is the first thing that comes out, followed by, “I just - I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

Harry looks at him like he’s dense. Maybe Louis  _is_  dense. “Why wouldn’t I want you to?” he asks, expression contorted in confusion. “I tried to kiss you while drunk, and then asked you another time, even after you rejected me.”

“Okay, first, I didn’t reject you,” Louis defends quickly. “I was doing the respectable thing by saying no. And I thought that maybe you just wanted to see. What it was like, you know, kissing a bloke and all.”

Harry shakes his head, still frowning. There’s a pause, and then with a soft tone, he says, “I wanted to see what it was like to kiss  _you_.”

Louis looks at him, mind temporarily blanking, only Harry’s words bouncing around inside. He’s not sure  _why_  that possibility was so hard to believe, that Harry might have wanted to kiss him because it was  _him_ , not because he was merely a bloke to try it out on. Louis’ usually not one for modesty - he knows he’s attractive enough. He has nice eyes and hair and ass, along with curves that most men that are as petite as him don’t possess. He knows he’s able to spot the fittest bloke in the club and shag him with little difficulty. So certainly a sheltered, eighteen-year-old kid wanting to snog him shouldn’t be odd, but Harry, well. He feels different, somehow.

If Louis speaks, it’s only to say something completely earth-shattering like, “Oh.” He does get up, though he feels the effort in every last bone, limbs heavy and head light. He slides next to Harry, pausing before leaning in all the way. He thinks he might feel more nervous than Harry looks, which is concerning.

Louis’ about to do something stupid, like ask Harry if he’s  _certain_ , but Harry already has a hand on his jaw, guiding their lips together. Louis holds his breath, and kisses him.

Harry kisses like he speaks, slow and easy, like every kiss is thought out and deliberate. It makes Louis’ skin itch, makes him want to press in close and open him up, have him lose control and shiver underneath his fingertips. Instead, he shifts only a little, kisses tentative.

He hasn’t felt this clueless in this type of situation since he was seventeen. Louis’ usually the one to take the lead, to press and steer in any which direction he chooses, but it’s been a long time since he’s snogged someone without that direction being sex - especially when that snogging takes place on a bed. With Harry, he almost feels inexperienced, overthinking every movement and flick of his tongue, uncertain how far to step without crossing over an undefined line. The only thing he wants more than licking and biting and pressing into his untarnished skin is for Harry to be comfortable, which is a hard line to draw when Louis is very much unclear as to where Harry even stands.

Louis’ hand trails up Harry’s jaw and into his hair, smoothing down curls. After a few solid minutes, he attempts to pull away with a peck, but Harry’s lips follow blindly, open-mouthed with his hands on his chest. Louis returns it, feeling a thrill run up his spine at the thought that Harry really does want this just as badly as him.

Harry shifts onto his back, tugging Louis with him. He follows, kisses remaining heavy as he practically presses Harry into the mattress without climbing all the way on top of him. The thrill in his spine transfers to his gut, building and burning, which might be embarrassing if he didn’t suspect Harry was already growing hard. For one very brief moment, Louis wonders what his mother would think about him corrupting Harry now.

Louis’ hand drops to Harry’s waist, loose t-shirt pulled up from the shifting, revealing a small strip of bare skin above his jeans. Louis takes advantage of it, running his thumb along the smooth lines of his hipbones. It takes everything in Louis not to sink down and replace his fingers with his tongue.

Harry grips the back of Louis’ neck, breathing heavily and hardly shy about plunging his tongue into his mouth. Louis is _definitely_  hard now. Hard enough that he should put a stop to this before he really does make Harry uncomfortable, and his erection becomes too unbearable to leave unattended.

Much like the first time Louis pulled away, Harry doesn’t give up easily. Through perseverance Louis manages to break away, pulling back to create a small space between them. He feels cold instantly.

Harry watches him with blown pupils, looking perturbed and more than confused by the interruption. He’s breathtaking like this, with wild hair and swollen lips, chest heaving underneath the thin material of his t-shirt. Louis very nearly goes back to attacking him with his mouth. “Hey,” he manages to get out instead, smoothing a hand along Harry’s jaw, “maybe we should like, talk about this?” He nearly laughs at the absurdity of his words.  _Talk about it_  is usually the last thing he wants to do.

Harry nods. “Yeah, okay. Alright.”

“I just don’t want to - push it,” he says carefully, keeping his hand on Harry’s neck, thumb brushed against his earlobe.

Harry smiles, light and appreciative. “Thanks.” Despite the awkward angle, he reaches up to grab at Louis’ wrist and squeezes.

“When did you - well, how long have you known that you’re gay?”

Harry’s lips purse together, suddenly unsettled. “I’m still not used to using that word so - directly,” he says.

Despite the fact that Harry was just pressing dirty kisses into his mouth with what seemed like very little difficulty, and is now incidentally sporting a boner in his trousers, Louis takes the claim without censure, nodding in understanding. “Okay, well,” he rephrases, “how long have you known that you fancy blokes?”

He sighs, pausing as he ruminates. “I started thinking about it a couple of years ago,” he says, “but like you said, there was a lot of ignoring and denying and getting angry at God. It’s only in the past year that I’ve allowed myself to actually... think about it.” He pauses once more, and Louis nods along in encouragement, squeezing his shoulder. “I never acted on it though, and I didn’t really want to…until you.” He flushes, slouching into the shoulder furthest from Louis, as if in an attempt to hide.

Warmth spreads within Louis’ chest. He hardly has the knowledge that he’s moving until his lips are brushing against Harry’s mouth. He noticeably relaxes, kissing Louis back with a smile.

“I didn’t realize at the time, of course,” Harry continues after a few soft exchanges, “but I think part of the reason why I was so intrigued with you in secondary was because I had a little bit of a crush on you. I went to all your plays, and your footie games. I told myself it wasn’t because of you though. I tried to smile at you in the hall, or at church, but you never noticed me. One time I even said hi to you in the toilets, but you looked at me like I was crazy.” He smiles timidly, lip tucked within the other, fingers dancing along Louis’ arm. “It’s probably why I knew so much about you.”

Louis presses past the buzzing in his stomach, the admission that  _Harry had a crush on him_ , to tease him by saying, “I thought that was because it’s Holmes Chapel?”

Harry shrugs, cheeks flushing into a deeper shade of red. “Guilty,” he mumbles.

Louis laughs, reconnecting their lips. He wishes he could place a finger on a certain event, recognize Harry’s face in the crowds or in the hallways, but it’s blank. Not even the toilet incident rings a bell - though he’ll wager that if it were at school, he was most likely stoned. Harry was only a kid at the time, scrawny and pre-pubescent, so it’s hardly surprising, but he feels a twinge of disappointment anyway. All that time Harry was watching him while Louis didn’t have a clue, only ever acknowledging him as the preacher’s nerdy son.  

“I thought you were quite good-looking, you know,” Harry admits against his lips.

“And now what do you think?”

“You’re okay.” He shrugs in mock indifference, but the cheeky smile overtaking his expression betrays him. Louis kisses it away, laughing. “I reckon I would’ve died a bit had someone told me I’d be snogging Louis Tomlinson on his bed four years from now.”

“Well, you’re definitely one of the lucky ones,” Louis replies coolly.

Harry retaliates by squeezing his arm, but he laughs anyway, eyes shining. “Prat.”

Louis simpers, brushing a loose curl out of Harry’s eye. He trails his lips from his cheek to nose, and asks, “And how do you feel now?”

Harry’s eyes search Louis’ as he ponders. “Happy,” he eventually concludes. “Though, I had a proper spaz after we kissed the first time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was just a little - intense,” he says, making a vague, airy motion with his hand. “I mean, that I actually like, did it. And that it was, well, yeah.” He finishes awkwardly, eyes darting and lips pursing.

“Was what?” Louis presses, now the one to flash a cheeky grin.

Harry narrows his eyes, like Louis is offending him by asking him to expand on such a matter. Eventually, he sighs and says, “Just that I enjoyed it. A lot. Like, worlds more than I’ve enjoyed snogging before.”

Louis smirks, thrilled and very, very pleased.

Harry rolls his eyes, stifling a giggle behind his hand. “Okay, enough of me complimenting you. Your head might explode.”

Louis wants to say,  _no, no, please continue, my head is just fine the way it is_. Instead, he settles for a poke to Harry’s waist and, “If it’s any consolation, I enjoyed it too. And I really enjoyed the one we just had, so much that I’ll be severely disappointed if that doesn’t happen again very soon.”

“Really?” Harry asks, bashful. Louis wants to lick his entire face.

“Yeah,” Louis responds easily, “you’re quite the kisser for being the reverend’s wholesome son.”

Harry guffaws, but not without punching him in the arm as well. “Shut up,” he says, cutting Louis off with a kiss before he can say anything else.  

Louis smiles against his mouth, entire body warm and tingly.  _Tingly_ , something Louis hasn’t felt in a long, long time. With Aiden it had been easy. There was no rush, no clammy palms or racing hearts, they just fell together with very little question. At the time, it was what Louis needed, but experiencing this reminds him of how much he had missed these feelings.  

“Feeling like spazzing out now?”

Harry shakes his head slowly, as if considering. “No, but…a little scared,” he admits.

“Of what?” Louis asks delicately, kneading his fingers into his shoulder.

“God. My dad.”

“How do you think God feels? Not what you’ve been told, but how do  _you_  feel?”

“I feel like…I don’t know. The thing that bothers me the most is that, with the other -  _sins_ , like cheating and drinking and divorce and meaningless sex, I see how that can hurt or be possibly damaging, but it’s hard for me to understand how this could be. At least, any more destructive than any other relationship has the possibility to be.” He frowns, the depth of his thoughts written in the lines on his forehead. “It’s just like - how could something rooted in love be wicked? I just don’t understand…and then I wonder, if this is really wrong, who is this God that I believe in?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, though he wishes he did. He’s just as clueless on the God matter - even more so. While he wishes he was able to make all the confusion and hurt disappear from within Harry, he knows that he’s not nearly equipped enough to do so. He leans forward, brushing his lips against Harry’s forehead, remaining there as his hands card through his hair. “I don’t know, love,” he eventually mumbles, feeling entirely useless. “All I know is that if God thinks someone like you is wicked, then we’re all screwed.”

His words were meant to make Harry laugh, but he doesn’t, doesn’t even smile, instead appearing even more sad and confused. Louis curses himself silently, wishing he could take it back. “Hey,” he says softly, cupping his neck and forcing Harry to look him in the eye, “I know that I’m hardly the person to offer any knowledge on God or the Bible, but, I mean, it all comes down to faith, right? That’s what it’s about, so all we can really do is try our hardest and be the best we can be while having faith and believing, right? Unless Jesus swoops down or strikes us down with a lightning bolt, there’s no real way to know, so we can only fumble around and hope we’re not completely screwing it up.”

Harry exhales, nodding slowly. He turns onto his side to bump his head against Louis’, smiling small. “I hope so.”

“He sees that you care. That you want to do right, whatever that may be. That has to count for something. He can’t blame you for not wanting to hide anymore.”

He strokes the hair behind Louis’ ear, brushing their mouths together chastely. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you the answers.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re right though, no one knows except God himself. The rest of us can only pretend.”

“Exactly.” Louis bites his lip, offering a quiet, slightly abashed smile. “I’m like, proud of you, you know? That you’re able to be who you are, despite all the bullshit.”

Harry ducks his pinkening cheek into the pillow, exposing half a grin. “Thank you,” he murmurs, reaching to squeeze Louis’ fingers.  

“And I swear, it has nothing to do with me being extremely pleased that I’m able to snog a fit bloke because of it,” Louis teases.

If Harry could duck any more into the pillow without hiding his entire face he surely would, cheeks growing even redder. Though he looks pleased as he walks his fingers up Louis’ side with a perked eyebrow. “You think I’m fit?”

“The fact that you’re even questioning that is a right insult to me. I am neither blind nor stupid.” Harry laughs, rolling onto his back and throwing his hands in front of his face. Louis reaches out to rest his palm against his flat belly, and adds, “Just may be the fittest bloke I ever did snog.”

Harry rolls his eyes, laughing in disbelief. He goes to knock Louis’ hand away, but instead he grabs ahold of it, knotting their fingers together. “Yeah right, like you really had a problem landing fit blokes in London.”

Louis returns with a sly smile. “Oh, I didn’t. That’s my point.”

The flush on Harry’s cheeks is unmistakable now - even the tips of his ears that peek out from underneath his curls are pink. “Such a charmer, you,” he says, waving him off.

“I mean it,” Louis says earnestly. The fact that Harry can’t see nor believe how gorgeous he is is astounding to Louis, and somehow, manages to make him all the more appealing. Most of the men that Louis has met that come close to Harry’s level of attractiveness have either been arrogant and demanding, or entirely void of personality. They usually aren’t very good in bed, either. The fact that Louis was not only able to find such a sincere, intelligent and endearing person, but also to catch him long enough to snog him in his bed is almost mind-boggling.

Harry looks at him long and hard, biting down a grin. Finally, he seemingly accepts Louis’ admissions, squeezing his fingers in his and says with an impeccably straight face, “Well, I’ll have you know, you’re by far the fittest bloke I ever did snog as well.” By the end, he bursts into giggles, so adorable that Louis can’t help but join in, knocking their mouths back together.

“Thanks,” Louis murmurs into his lips, “I don’t take the compliment lightly.”

“Good,” Harry laughs, “because I really mean it.”

“Never doubted it.”

Harry’s smile radiates as he presses a hand to the back of Louis’ head, pulling him in for another kiss. “ _Good._ ”

*

Louis swears he does more kissing in the following week than he has in his entire lifetime combined.

If Louis had any leftover concerns as to whether or not Harry had completely accepted his sexuality, they were certainly too far away to notice now. Harry never seems to get enough, content to spend every day snogging in the confinement of Louis’ bedroom. It suits Louis just fine - he remembers what it was like the first time he enjoyed kissing someone. The realization, the steady acceptance, the overwhelming relief that you weren’t a freak that didn’t enjoy kissing, you were just the freak that enjoyed kissing blokes. He remembers never wanting to stop, craving the touch and the newfound pleasure in every last atom of his body. That’s not to say Louis doesn’t enjoy it just as much now - because he certainly does,  _a lot_  - which is exactly the problem. That’s a week worth of sexual frustration that has only seen relief through cold showers and his own hand.

Despite being in a full house, Louis’ room has become their safest haven; his door locked and movie playing, should his mother ever stop outside of his door and listen in. Mostly, the precautions are for Harry’s sake, as his mum finding out is hardly a reason for concern to Louis. If she hasn’t already suspected, she will eventually, but denial is her oldest friend. She won’t acknowledge it if she doesn’t have to, and she certainly won’t question it. The results would hardly be much different if she were actually to walk in on them, and Louis knows with certainty that she would _never_  tell Harry’s parents.

He doesn’t tell this to Harry though. He doesn’t want him to think that he doesn’t care about protecting his secret. Louis wants to give him this safe space to explore and discover and enjoy without having to worry about the possibility of anyone walking into their bubble. He wants him to have this little tucked-away world, if only for awhile. It helps that Louis enjoys the thrill of it, the allure of sneaking around, which might allude to past relationships if he were up for thinking about such a thing.

The following Friday, Louis is awoken by the weight of a body on his behind, a mouth kissing up his exposed neck and ear. “Wha?” he gargles, half of his face still smushed into his pillow. Suddenly, Harry’s face appears directly in front of his, grinning wildly.

“Hi,” he says.

Louis frowns in foggy awareness. “What time is it? What are you doing here?”

“About half ten,” he supplies easily, sliding off Louis’ body and rolling onto his side next to him. “I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me like twelve hours ago.”

Instead of looking embarrassed, Harry just grins wider, hooking a hand onto Louis’ hip and squeezing. “I know,” he says, kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth that isn’t drooling into his pillow.

“Is anyone home?”

Harry shakes his head. “Your back door was unlocked.”

Louis shifts onto his side to take a better look at Harry dressed in his uniform, the familiar school crest on his black, collared vest. Louis loathed the uniform back when he had to wear it, but seeing it on Harry does certain things to him. It would do more things to him  _off_ , but seeing as Louis’ not sure that’s even a distant possibility, he’ll take what he can get.

“You shouldn’t be skiving off school,” Louis admonishes. “Look what I’m turning you into. A drunk, a homosexual, and now a skiver.”

Harry rolls his eyes and laughs, leaning in to murmur against his mouth, “Guess you’re a bad influence after all.”

Louis squeezes his hip in retaliation, taking Harry’s bottom lip between his own, morning breath and all. There are worse ways to wake up.

Despite the fact that Louis’ teeth probably need a good brushing, Harry opens his mouth easily, hand snaking around the back of Louis’ neck as he falls back against the pillows, pulling Louis with him. Louis had already been half-hard when he woke up, and he reckons it’ll only be a matter of minutes before he’s straining against his joggers.

This is how it’s been for an entire week. Never in his life has Louis participated in this intense of snogging without it resulting in some form of mutual getting off. Louis hasn’t tried to push it further, only going so far as putting his hand up Harry’s shirt to feel his soft, untouched skin, touching two out of his four nipples. Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been excited over a  _nipple_  until now.

He understands that before last week Harry had never even kissed a bloke, and although the first time Louis kissed a bloke he got him off at the same time, he gets the feeling Harry might need more time than that. He’s kind of been waiting for him to instigate more, but so far, much to Louis’ disappointment, there’s been nothing. They haven’t even dry humped, even though Louis has definitely felt Harry hard against his leg on almost every occasion. All in all, being a respectful gentleman is really hard work. Louis hasn’t wanked this much since he hit puberty.

As expected, their breath is stinted within minutes, kisses wet and sex-crazed except without the sex. Louis’ morning wood has turned into a full-on stiffy, so hard it’s nearly painful as he presses his hips into the mattress. They begin to rock on their own, needing the friction, and he’s so desperate for release that he swears he’s already leaking at the tip. A gasp escapes from Louis, and then a curse, Harry freezing against his mouth as if only realizing now what Louis is doing.

Louis thinks he might’ve gone too far this time, that Harry will stop them, but a moment passes, then two, and Harry’s back to kissing him, tongue running along Louis’ with the same intensity as Louis’ hips jutting against the bed. This is by far the dirtiest Harry has kissed him yet, and Louis doesn’t need any more convincing as he reaches for Harry’s belt. He gets the buckle undone, feeling like he might actually come in his trousers from the anticipation, when Harry’s hands are on top of his, stopping him before he gets to his zipper. When Louis pulls away, the disappointment he feels is almost palpable.

“Lou, I’m sorry,” Harry says. His hot, labored breath pours down Louis’ chin, not making the situation any easier. “I’m just - not ready.” Harry looks back at him, sheepish and apologetic, and possibly a little embarrassed, and all Louis can do is throw his head back against the pillow in dejection.

He sighs, covering his face with his hands, unable to think about much more than his throbbing cock. He’s always endured it before, waiting until Harry left before wanking, but he doesn’t think that’s possible this time around. He thinks he could actually, probably explode if he doesn’t get off right now.

When he uncovers his face, Harry is a mixture of guilt and worry, something Louis would feel bad about if his entire brain hadn’t currently vacated to his dick. He manages to get out a, “I’ll be right back,” before climbing off the bed and staggering out into the hallway towards the loo. Harry watches him as he goes, eyes wide and entirely silent.

He locks the door behind him and runs the tap before sitting on the toilet, freeing himself from his trousers. He’s leaking all right, and all it takes is a few pulls and a mental picture of Harry’s mouth before he’s coming all over his hand. He stays seated for a minute, not moving to clean himself up as he waits for his brain to return. When it does, the first thing Louis wonders is how freaked out Harry must be.

He cleans up the best he can with a wet cloth, and on his way back to his bedroom, he almost expects Harry not to be there. He’s certain he’s ruined it - whatever it is that they have going. To his surprise though, Harry is still there, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, his own erection clearly visible in his dress pants. Louis worries for him sometimes. He hopes he at least wanks off.

Louis sits down next to him gingerly, feeling mildly embarrassed over his total lack of control. Harry tilts his head to look at him, cheeks pink, and at the same time they say, “I’m sorry.”

They both laugh, though there’s a clear nervous edge to it. Louis speaks first, “You don’t have to be sorry. I just - uh, got a little carried away. That was prattish of me. I’m sorry.”

Harry sits up, shaking his head adamantly. “No, I shouldn’t have woken you up like that and got you all - flustered and not expected you to, well.” He shrugs, sheepish. And there it is. If Louis had any hope of getting laid, it was killed in Harry’s inability to even  _speak_  of it.

Louis shrugs, falling into a lull of silence before it occurs to him to say, “It’s okay, you know, that you’re not ready.”

Harry’s eyes widen as if surprised, though relieved, the look of utter mortification is replaced with a tiny, searching smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis says genuinely, though he has to swallow when he says it. He scooches towards Harry, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “It’s only been a week, I’d never expect anything more.”

“And you don’t think I’m a kid?”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “No. If anything I admire that you know what you want and have the control to stop despite that raging stiffy,” he says with an impish grin.

Harry rolls his eyes, laughing under his breath as his cheeks flourish with colour once again. “I try.” Louis chuckles, both of them falling quiet, Harry warm against his side. Eventually, he clears his throat, knocking his forehead against Louis’ cheek. “Hey Lou,” he says softly, “I don’t really know how these things like, work. I mean, relationships, like.” He stops, stumped, face tucked into Louis’ neck.

Louis frowns, confused. “As in, between two blokes?” When Harry nods, he says, “Pretty much like ones between straight people?”

Harry buries his face further into Louis’ shoulder, groaning as if in pain. “That sounded really stupid. I meant like…with us,” he says, the last couple of words coming out in a choked whisper.

Louis takes a deep breath, heart beating soundly inside his chest. “Are you asking if we’re in a relationship?” he asks carefully.

Harry nods against him.

“Do you want to be?”

“Well, yes. I mean, I quite fancy you, and we’re always snogging, so I thought - I mean, if you don’t want to - I know I’m just a kid - ”

Louis can’t help but laugh, entire body warm with complete and utter fondness for this boy. Louis hooks a hand under his chin, directing Harry’s eyes to meet his. He stares back, appearing terrified as if there was any chance in hell Louis would reject him. Louis laughs again, and before Harry’s cheeks burn away, he leans forward to press their lips together. “Of course I fancy you too, you knob.”

Harry grins wide. “Your charm is never lost on me,” he says. When he pulls back from Louis’ mouth, his lip immediately goes in between his teeth, eyebrows lined together in worry. “It’s just - ” he starts with a clear nervous edge, “are you sure that you want to? I mean, like, be with me,” he blushes deeper, “even though I won’t have sex with you?”

“Ever?” Louis blurts.

Harry looks taken aback, but then waits a moment, seemingly thinking it over before saying, “Well, I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I just - I kind of was planning to wait until marriage."

This time, all Louis can do is stare with gaping eyes, trying not to choke on air.

“But, I mean like, things have changed now, obviously,” Harry says quickly. “It was a lot easier to say that when I didn’t even want to have sex, when I was expecting to marry a girl and I just - I don’t know now. Either way, it’s still important to me. No matter the decision, I want to wait a bit… I don’t want to just - yeah. I don’t want to give you false hope either.”

Louis manages to swallow. “Um, okay, well. Yeah, I respect that.”

He smiles, appreciative though not yet certain. “I understand if it’s not something you want to do. I won’t blame you if it’s like, a deal breaker,” he murmurs sheepishly, avoiding direct eye contact. “But like, if it is, if you could maybe let me know sooner than later? I mean, like, you can think about it if you want.”

Louis takes a deep breath, pondering. On one hand, he never expected to have to wait very long for sex - he never  _had_  to. On the other hand, he also never expected to find someone he gets along with as well as he does Harry, and certainly not with someone as fit as him, or one who asks to be his boyfriend whilst batting Bambi eyes. If there’s a question, there seems to be only one possible answer for Louis.

“Well, while I am quite fond of the whole sex thing, I am also fond of you,” he starts slowly, mulling over every word as it lands on his tongue. “I’m not like - a  _fiend_. I like you for more than just your ace kissing abilities, and if waiting is what you want to do, I respect that, and I wouldn’t want that to come in between us like, trying this out.” Harry’s grin is splitting, and he looks moments away from pouncing on Louis and declaring him his boyfriend, but before he can Louis continues, “I guess the only thing I’m concerned about is that well, like how intense we get sometimes. I’ve never had to worry about stopping before, you know? I don’t ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, or like I’m pressuring you, or that I don’t respect your wishes… and it’s not like - ” He cuts himself off, and adds very quickly, “If you told me to stop, I would, of course I would.”

Harry nods with a small smile and a squeeze of his arm. “I know.”

“I also worry that maybe we’d end up going further than you want, in the heat of the moment type of thing, and have you end up regretting it. If we ever do decide to have sex or do anything else in that area, I don’t want you to ever regret it, you know? I want you to do it because you want to, not to appease me.”

Instead of saying anything, Harry leans in and kisses him.

“Though I can’t say there won’t be more of those trips to the loo.”

Harry laughs. “Okay, deal.”

“Worst comes to worst, I’ll just have to marry you, I guess. Not so bad. I’ve always wanted a fit husband,” Louis says teasingly.

Harry snorts, knocking him in the arm, cheeks glowing redder than Louis’ seen yet. Which is basically like, otherworldly. “Oh god.”

It takes a moment for Louis’ own words to settle on him, and his own ears burning red, the realization hitting hard. It was only a joke, of course it was, it’s not like he’s actually considering marrying Harry after snogging him for two full weeks, but the fact that he even said it means that it was at least a  _thought_. A thought he’s never had before. Hell, he was living with Aiden, and not once did the subject come up in even the slightest of jokes.

Harry’s recovery is quick, leaning in to kiss him, hand in his hair and grin against his. All it takes is the simple recognition that he’s kissing his boyfriend, and the embarrassment all but fades from Louis’ mind.

“You’re not going back to school, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry says, not pulling away. Louis can taste his mischief. “And it’s all your fault.”

“For corrupting you?”

Harry smiles. “Something like that.”

*

“You know, you might get more out of your revision if you did it at home or in a library instead of at a pub,” Louis remarks, leaning over Harry’s schoolwork spread out across the bar.

Harry looks up, his concentrated expression breaking into a smirk, the crinkles in his forehead bleeding down into the corner of his eyes. Louis loves those crinkles, and the way his eyes sparkle, and his unwashed, wild hair. They’re close enough that Louis would have to lean in just a few inches to peck him a kiss. He very nearly does; Harry seemingly on the same train of thought as his eyes flick to Louis’ mouth.They manage to stop themselves in time, remembering they are, in fact, inside an open and very public pub in a conservative, Christian village.

“You underestimate my concentration skills.”

“Clearly.” Louis sneaks a quick glance around to make sure no one is within earshot, and then lowers his voice into a whisper. “I’m thoroughly impressed you’re able to with this arse right before you. And these are my special trousers.”

“It is difficult, I must admit, but one must make sacrifices.” Harry flashes a cheeky grin, and says, “You know, you could learn a thing or two about self-control from me. Maybe you wouldn’t be in so much debt.”

Louis gasps in insult, throwing a hand over his chest. “Rude, Harry. Those were sacrifices too. I sacrificed for these trousers, but it was something I had to do for the greater good of my arse and for those viewing it.”

Harry rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling. “Nut.”

“Ah, yes, keep throwing insults there, but what does that say about you as someone who chose to lay their affect- ”

“Harry, hi darling, how are you?”

They pull back simultaneously, realizing then how the small the distance between them had become. Louis stands upright, fidgeting with his t-shirt while Harry looks to him and then the newly arrived, middle-aged couple. They’re smiling too widely to mean it, and Louis immediately recognizes the man as one of the parish council members. He'd forgotten many names and faces in his time away, but those men he could never. He’ll always remember them in the church basement, circled around him with their Bibles on their laps, expressions of disgust too clear to forget.

Harry responds with a smile, more genuine than theirs, though Louis catches the pink dusted across his cheeks. Louis slinks back quietly, hoping to disappear without being noticed. He spots a man across the bar with a nearly empty pint, and all but dashes over, thankful for the exit.

Louis keeps on the opposite side of the bar as long as he can while Harry chats away to the couple, busying himself with wiping the counter and shelves until they’re nearly sparkling. He feels like an absolute coward, hiding out from close-minded bigots, but as the reverend’s beloved son, Harry hardly needs saving.

Though when he sneaks a glance over, Harry is no longer smiling, the pink in his cheeks brighter than before. He’s fidgeting with his notebook, trying to keep eye contact but failing, as his gaze drops to the floor and back again. The couple isn’t smiling either, and when the man’s eyes flicker to Louis, he sees that the look of disgust has hardly diminished over the years. Louis turns from his gaze at once, gut twisting, no longer any question as to what they’re saying to Harry. The disgust and shame that fills Louis is as thick as it was in the man’s eyes.

Even after they leave, the bell sounding brightly above their heads as they exit the pub, Louis stays away from Harry. He can feel Harry watching him, his gaze prickling the back of his already heated neck. Louis’ sure he’s annoying the other patrons seated around the bar by how he’s hovering over their drinks, looking for a distraction.

Eventually, Harry gives up and goes back to his schoolwork, though Louis can tell that his concentration has been lost. Louis might not have known Harry for long, but he’s very quickly learned that he wears his feelings on his face, that his expressions almost always tell all.

When Louis does return to Harry, it’s to fill his iced tea, and Harry sends him a smile that looks an awful lot like pity. It doesn’t do much to warm the chill still settled in Louis’ mind, but he supposes it’s better than anger or disgust.

Harry stays for the remaining two hours of Louis’ shift, but neither of them speak, Louis too afraid to ask. Harry gathers his schoolwork into his bag while Louis puts the last of the dishes through the washer, Dougie coming onto the floor to take over for him.

The walk home is just as quiet, but Harry stays close, his hand bumping against Louis’ every few strides. Despite the obvious tension floating between them, the smile and friendly greetings that Harry gives everyone that passes by are genuine. They’ve been seen together around town for months now, but even still, people often look between them with confusion. While some do offer the same smile to Louis as they do Harry, others ignore him entirely, as if they’ve seen right through him. Harry’s never had to face the same judgment and conviction that Louis has from these people, but he wonders if Harry ever feels the same fear and hatred that he does, simply knowing what they think about  _people like him_. He kind of doubts it, though it’s astonishing to him how somehow like Harry could exist. Someone so loving and gracious and real despite how undeserving some may be. Louis might not understand, but he envies it.

When they reach the fork in the roads leading towards each of their houses, Harry doesn’t ask, just turns towards Louis’. Louis wonders if he’s planning on telling him what the couple said, or if he’s just going to let it hang over them all night, unspoken and unrelenting.

Dinner is ready by the time they reach Louis’, and it’s not at all surprising that his mum already has a plate set out for Harry. Since the first night Harry came over for dinner a few weeks prior, Louis has felt himself much more at ease. He has to be, with Harry always over and inevitably needing food. His mum has even chilled out, along with his sisters, who no longer bombard him with questions and affection, but instead seem almost entirely unfazed by his constant presence in the house. Louis likes that he fits in so easily, that there’s always a plate waiting for him like he’s meant to be there despite the fact that he’s only supposed to be Louis’ friend.

Louis suspects that his mum may know, or at least wonder. He’s caught her looking between them enough times, thoughtful and contemplative. How she feels about it, Louis doesn’t know. His first assumption is that she’d be angry and resentful, but the fact that she keeps leaving out a plate for Harry and never looks any less thrilled over his appearance leaves him uncertain.

After dinner, he and Harry do the dishes while his mum and younger sisters watch _The X Factor_  in the other room. They don’t say much, but there’s less tension behind their silence than before, starting when Louis takes a handful of bubbles and sticks it on Harry’s cheek. Harry gives out a loud cackle, squeezing Louis’ waist with his wet, soapy hands. The soap war is short, but the giggles and smiles stay, and Louis can’t help it as he leans in to smack a kiss against Harry’s cheek, only after checking to make sure they’re alone first.

Harry stares at him in shock, but then he’s laughing, shaking his head in disbelief.

Downstairs in his bedroom, Louis locks the door behind them while Harry goes straight for his bed, stretching out in the middle. Louis wastes no time before crawling over top of him, wiping his hair out of his eyes and kissing him into the pillow. “God,” he growls, “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

Harry grins up at him, hands gripping onto Louis’ biceps. “Me too.”

“It’s painful, really. It should be illegal. You should be illegal.”

Harry actually giggles.  _Giggles_. God, Louis is so fucking smitten. “What does that even mean?”

Louis presses his face into Harry’s hair, taking in his smell as he noses his way along his neck. “It means you’re so bloody fit that you shouldn’t even be real. That it’s unfair for you to be around me when I can’t touch you.”

Harry turns his head, forcing Louis to pull his face from his neck and look at him, noses nearly touching. Harry wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close to kiss him long and hard. When Harry pulls away after a few exchanges it's to look at him with an all-too-serious expression, Louis is disappointed but hardly surprised.

“Lou,” he starts slowly, carefully, like he’s treading on thin ice. Louis was already dreading hearing what that old couple had to say to Harry, but it didn’t exactly occur to him to be  _worried_  as well. “What happened before you left? Like, for you to hate everyone so much? And for them to act so -  _weird_  towards you?”

Weird, that’s a way to put it. If Harry wasn’t the one to say it, Louis would’ve definitely laughed in his face. He pulls back from his hold instead, giving Harry no choice but to drop his arm from around his neck. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, flopping onto his back. “Can’t say they were very fond of the homosexual bit. On top of that, I was the bad influence. The bad kid, all throughout secondary. The fact that they don’t like me is hardly new.”

“No,” Harry says with certainty, and when Louis turns to shoot him a raised eyebrow, he continues by saying, “it’s more than that. I know it is. You weren’t the only rebellious youth, and you certainly aren’t now. A kid in my year crashed his car into the village sign while high last year, and he isn’t even treated with the same -  _tension_.”

“You forgot the bit where this kid is most likely straight.”

“Fine,” he allows, “but how do they even know that you’re gay?”

“You tell me,” Louis says. “You said everyone knew Zayn and I were gay. I assume they know in the same way.”

“No, those were just rumors. No one actually knew whether you were, and that was just among people in school. Then you moved, and suddenly it was this known fact. I can’t even tell you how many people have approached me since you’ve returned warning me of your homosexuality. Given what you’ve said about your mum, I can’t imagine her telling everyone you’re living a gay life in London.”

Louis face burns, but he keeps his eyes trained to the ceiling, away from Harry’s prying gaze. Louis assumed a _few_  people here and there might’ve voiced concern over their friendship and Louis’ reputation, but he certainly didn’t expect the amount that Harry is insinuating. Maybe he was giving this village too much credit, after all. “I don’t know, Harry,” Louis says, voice edged in frustration, feeling backed into a corner. “They must’ve figured it out.”

“Lou, please,” Harry says softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of Louis’ hair behind his ear. If that wasn’t enough to break Louis already, he turns onto his side and nuzzles against him, resting his open palm on Louis’ beating chest. “I could’ve asked my dad, you know? But I want to hear from you. I want  _your_  story. I swear I won’t judge you, whatever it is. I just want to know, so I can understand.”

Louis lets out a long breath of air, stomach twisted in knots. He can’t remember the last time he’s talked about this, let alone allowed himself to  _think_  about it properly. “I just - I got involved with someone I shouldn’t have, and people found out.”

“Who? Who were you involved with? Who found out?”

Covering his face with his hand, Louis rubs his fingers into his temple, allowing himself the moment to prepare. He had kind of hoped that maybe he could get away with never telling Harry - or anyone - about this. “Fine,” he eventually sighs, purposely keeping his gaze very far from Harry’s, “okay, I got involved with my drama teacher in my last year.”

Louis can feel Harry’s muscles tense, but he doesn’t move, hand remaining on Louis’ exceedingly pounding chest. “You mean…that artsy bloke who came out of nowhere in the beginning of the year, and left before the term was up? That was - that was because of you?”

“Yup, sounds about right.” There’s a pause, and Louis assumes Harry is waiting on more details, so he continues, forcing each word out, “His name was Ben. He was a screenwriter. The story he was writing was set in a small village, so he agreed to teach to make some extra money. We started - well, it started during the beginning of the year. Whatever it was.”

“But, Louis, he was  _old_.”

Louis swallows. “He was thirty-one.”

“That’s old! You were just a youth.”

“I was eighteen for most of it,” Louis defends. “It’s not like he took advantage of me. I knew what I was doing. I was the one who approached him. You said you weren’t going to judge me.”

“I’m not,” Harry says quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just shocked, is all. Continue. What happened?”

“We were good at hiding it. I didn’t even tell Zayn until the spring. I guess near the end of the year we just got a little too reckless and a student walked in on us after hours, and she told the headmaster. I tried to tell them that it was consensual, and that I loved him, but it didn’t matter. They told him to leave quietly, or else they’d press charges. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

There’s another pause, and Louis can hear Harry take a deep breath and then swallow. “But Louis,” he says carefully, “any school would do that. No matter how you felt about him, he was a teacher and you were his student. Most schools would have pressed charges, weren’t you happy about that?”

“They didn’t press charges because they didn’t want it to get out. Especially the part of me wanting it? No way. It wasn’t just the issue of me fucking a teacher, it was me fucking a  _male_  teacher.” Louis’ cheeks burn at the memory. “The church was involved, of course, and they wanted me to go to this - this fucking prison camp to try and make me straight.”  

“You mean my dad did?” Harry asks, voice strained in a whisper.

Exhaling, Louis nods slowly. “Yeah.”

The silence that falls over them this time is different, heavier. Even though Harry doesn’t move or speak right away, Louis can practically feel his disappointment hanging thick in the air. “I’m - I’m so sorry, Lou.”

Finally, Louis turns to look at him, covering the hand still on his chest with his own. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t be sorry.”

Harry stares wide-eyed at him, pale and looking like he might cry. “I just - I knew, obviously, that he didn’t approve, that he wouldn’t, but I guess. I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to believe that he’d do something that heartless. No matter - no matter how you actually felt about this - about Ben, you were still a youth, and to put you through that and then to try and send you to - to become straight.” He shakes his head, looking away as the last few words become cracked. “I’m sorry,” he says again, before Louis can reply, “this isn’t about me. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Louis reaches forward to stroke a soothing hand through Harry’s hair. He cradles his head, pulling him in as he kisses his forehead. “If it’s any consolation, it wasn’t just your dad. It was the whole parish council.”

Harry chokes out a laugh, though it sounds anything but humorous. “That makes it worse, but okay.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to kiss the tip of Harry’s nose before pulling back, still threading his fingers through his curls.

Harry sniffs, shaking his head. There are no tears, but his eyes look awfully wet, and Louis feels horrible. If anything, he expected his eyes to be filled with disgust, not tears. How did he ever come to deserve such a kind-hearted, understanding, beautiful boy when he’s been so far from one himself?

“Did you really love him?”

Louis hesitates, then says, “I think so. I don’t think that he took advantage of me. He always treated me well, and we did have this weird relationship going on, but.” He sighs.  _This_  is the part he hates admitting the most. “It’s hard for me to think about now, and understand. It’s weird to me that he was so old and fell so easily into a relationship with a seventeen-year-old student. At the time I did question it, but I was more into the thrill of it. Of marking another thing off my list. Sometimes I wonder what he’d say if I were to see him now.”

“Have you ever tried to find him?”

“No,” Louis says. “As much as I think I’d like to know, I think I’m much more afraid to.”

Harry nods in understanding.

“And now you know my biggest secret, except,” he reconsiders, “apparently the entire village knows about it, anyway.”

Harry buries his face into Louis’ arm, and whines, “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop it. Don’t be sorry. You have no reason to be.”

“It’s my dad.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “and you’re not him.”

Harry peeks out from beneath his mop of hair and pouts. It would be extremely endearing if Louis weren’t already so sad. “How am I ever supposed to tell him?”

“With time. There’s no limit telling you when you have to.”

“You don’t mind?” he asks meekly. “Like, hiding?”

Louis shrugs. “I’m not exactly itching to be on this village’s chopping block again, so whenever you’re ready.”

With a sigh, Harry nuzzles himself further into Louis’ side, tucking himself into his armpit. “Thanks,” he says, voice muffled into Louis’ sweatshirt. “Thank you for telling me. And thank you for - You’ve been really great, and - yeah. You’ve made this whole thing a lot easier.” He peeks up at Louis over his chest, shy smile just barely showing.

Louis smiles, feeling warmth spread across his chest, wiping out the lasting effects of the previous topic of conversation. Louis didn't have many expectations for how this would go, but he assumes it went better than he could've imagined. “And you’ve made being back here way more enjoyable.”

When Harry grins it's wide and breathtaking. He reaches over to take ahold of Louis’ hand, intertwining their fingers together, tugging it over to kiss along his fingertips. Louis’ usually not much for dizzy heads and electric veins and butterflies, but for a minute there, he swears he feels all three.

*

The rest of May passes by quite uneventfully; Louis works and Harry revises, and in between they snog - most of which ends with Louis relieving himself in the toilets. If he ever once doubted Harry’s powers of self-control, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, Louis is really beginning to think he has a superhuman cock until one day, amidst a heavy snogging session, Harry gets off the bed and disappears to the toilet before Louis can. When he returns with pink cheeks, hair still messy and erectionless, Louis feels his cock twitch despite the fact that he just came into a napkin.

Even his  _dreams_  are constantly filled with visions of Harry coming. Which would be nice, if it weren’t for the fact that once again he’s left excruciatingly hard with no hope for release except by his own hand. Louis has a legitimate fear that he’s going to get carpal tunnel from too much wanking.

Louis’ heard of certain Christians waiting until marriage to even kiss. Waiting for sex is one thing that he might not have gotten on board with himself, but he understand why someone might want to. Kissing is laughable though; he doubts even the reverend would say it was a sin. Before, it was impossible for Louis even to wrap his head around not kissing someone until they were his husband, but now, well. He gets it. How much easier this waiting for sex thing would be if Harry weren’t panting and moaning in his bed almost every day. He’s considered telling Harry that they should stop for awhile, at the very least tone it down, but seeing as he’s already using what little self-control he has left not to have sex with Harry, there’s not much left over for anything else.

So when Harry asks to stay over for the night, Louis knows he should probably, definitely say no, but all Harry has to do is look at him, and Louis finds himself agreeing without any protest at all. Though Louis figures it won’t be so bad after all when they stay up watching movies with Lottie, pouring themselves into bed at two in the morning and exchanging only a few buttered-popcorn-flavoured kisses goodnight.

Louis feels like he’s been asleep for only minutes when he’s awoken in a room that’s still pitch-black, a heavy weight on top of him - most of which is concentrated in the crotch area. It takes a moment for sleep to leave and awareness to arrive, but by the time it has, he’s identified Harry’s heavy breathing and his wet mouth on his.

“Shit, Harry, wha- ” he manages to blubber out before Harry’s attacking him with even more fervent kisses, tongue pushed inside his mouth. When Harry’s hips begin to move against his already hard cock, his vision goes temporarily white.

“Fuck,” he curses and reaches for Harry, only for his hands to come into contact with warm, bare skin. Harry was  _definitely_  wearing a shirt before the went to sleep, Louis made sure of it. The last thing he needed was for either of them to wake up tangled together and half-naked. But, seeing as Harry is very much up for doing it while awake and sober, Louis would like his off  _now_.

“Let me - take it off,” he says, his half-functioning brain failing to produce comprehensible speech.

Harry seems to understand, because his hips halt long enough to sit up, pulling Louis up by the collar and yanking off his shirt like he’s had years of practice undressing others. Harry seems apt to push him back down and grind into him, but Louis’ skin is buzzing, brain blanking, so before he can even acknowledge his actions, he’s flipping them over in one motion, trapping Harry beneath him.

His eyes have adjusted enough to make out Harry’s wide eyes staring back at him, mouth parted, his very bare chest rising and falling with stinted breaths. Louis wants to ask him what’s even happening, but he can’t find the words, so instead he pulls Harry’s legs over his hips and grinds down with little delicacy.

They both moan at once, Harry’s louder and filthier. Having enough mind to know his family is home, his sister just in the next room, Louis slaps his hand across Harry’s mouth. Harry takes a finger between his lips, sucking obscenely, and Louis very nearly comes just like that.

Louis doesn’t find a rhythm so much as he jerks sporadically, but it suits them just the same. Harry moans over his fingers, hips moving to meet Louis’ while pleasure shoots all the way up Louis’ spine. They’re both wearing joggers, but even through the thick material, Louis can feel the length and girth of Harry’s cock sliding against his. Even the mere feeling of bare chest against bare chest is causing things inside of him. Never once has Louis wanted to get off solely by dry-humping someone. Why when he could just get the real thing, but Louis swears, he’s somehow never been more turned on than he is right now.

Harry runs his hands down Louis’ chest, fingers brushing against his nipples. Louis removes his hand from his mouth to lean down and press their lips together, bodies pressing even closer. Harry gasps out his name, and Louis swears even just  _hearing_  him and having no involvement would have him coming. He wonders what dream Harry could’ve possibly had to have to wake Louis up while panting and writhing so heavily already.

Louis begins to jerk his hips faster, hard enough that it should hurt but too desperate for the feeling to notice anything else but intense pleasure shooting up beneath his eyelids. He presses his nose into Harry’s ear, licking his tongue along his earlobe before murmuring, “It’s going to feel so good to be inside of you, babe. You’re going to feel so good. You’re gonna love it, I know you will.”

“Oh god, Lou,” he practically yelps, the jerking of his own hips picking up intensity. His grip on Louis’ biceps is so tight that he’s sure there will be finger-sized bruises on them come morning.

“The first time I’m gonna fuck you slow, open you up and make you feel things you didn’t think you could. And then afterwards, I’m gonna fuck you hard and deep until we can’t breathe and you feel like you’re unravelling. Shit, you’re going to feel so great, and you’re going to love the stretch of my cock deep inside - ”

Harry comes with a gasp and a curse, and if he drew blood out of Louis’ biceps, he wouldn’t be surprised at all. It’s worth it, when Louis  _finally_  gets to see him come.

“Fuck, Louis,  _oh my god._ ”

Louis rolls off of him, cock practically throbbing. “Can I - do you want me to - ”

“No, stay,” he manages to get out.

Louis doesn’t need any more convincing as he slips his hand down his joggers, grabbing ahold of his leaking cock, knowing it won’t be long before he’s coming himself. What he’s not expecting is for Harry to curl into his side, kissing and biting at his neck. His hand reaches for Louis’ arm at work, resting it where Louis’ disappears into his waistband.

“Harry,” he says a little helplessly. Thankfully, Harry gets the idea, and kisses him full on the mouth, tongue pushing past.

When Louis comes, Harry kisses him through it as if it were his hand getting Louis off. It’s by far the closest they’ve gotten yet, and the fact that Harry is so close, filling all his senses as he lets go is enough to make the orgasm roll all the way down to his toes. His joggers might be filled with wet, sticky cum, but it was so, so very worth it. “Jesus,” he curses after a moment, Harry’s giggle stifled against his mouth. “Where’d that come from?”

Harry gives him a sly smile, walking his fingers up Louis’ bare chest. “I might have had a dream…”

Louis quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to tell you what about,” he says coyly, “you might get ideas.”

Louis lets out a low growl from the back of his throat, and leans over Harry, trapping him against the mattress. “Oh, come on, don’t deprive me of this.”

Harry presses his lips firmly together and shakes his head. Even in the dark, Louis can see the sparkle of amusement in his eye.

Louis squeezes his sides in retribution. Harry keeps the giggles in for a total of three seconds before he’s bursting into laughter, attempting to swat Louis’s hands away. “Stoooop, I’m not telling!”

Louis does stop, but only to throw in a pout. “How am I ever going to compete with dream me if he leaves you that hot and bothered?’

Harry circles his arms around Louis’ neck, stroking the hair next to his ear. He keeps a cheeky smile on his face as he says, “Well, I suppose you’re a good enough consolation, in any case.”

Louis rolls his eyes, pinching Harry’s side until he elicits another squeal that he captures with a wet kiss. “This dream me,” Louis murmurs, “is he good with his mouth?”

Biting back a smile, Harry gives a small nod. “Mhmmm…”

The reply goes straight to his cock, and despite the fact that he just came, Louis thinks a little more talk like this and he’d be good for round two. He shifts, fitting a leg between Harry’s until their crotches are pressed back together. Harry says nothing, though Louis catches the flutter of his eyelids and the tiniest gulp of air.

Louis nips his chin and says, “I bet I’m better."

“Doubtful.” Harry smirks.

“I’ll show you,” he says, all but diving for his torso.

“Nice try,” Harry says without a beat, pulling him back up by his armpits. He laughs while Louis’ mouth puckers into another pout, defeated. He was _so_  close.

“Who even says no to blowjobs? You’re like a mutant.”

Harry shrugs blithely.

Sensing there will be no room for budging, Louis sighs and rolls off of him, slipping his feet onto the floor. He ambles over to his dresser, squinting in the darkness as he locates the right drawer and searches around for two clean pairs of joggers. He throws one in Harry’s direction, landing in a heap on top of his head.

“Don’t peek,” Harry warns. “Go into the corner.”

“Yes, sir,” Louis says teasingly, but obliges as he goes over to the darkest corner of his room without question. He turns his back as he slips out of his soiled joggers and into the new ones. He keeps his face to the wall until Harry gives him the okay to return. He can’t help but to laugh at the situation. They just got each other off, yet they can’t see each other change, like young kids in the locker room who are going through puberty.

Back in bed and tucked under the covers, Harry instantly curls into Louis’ side, laying a soft kiss against his neck. “Goodnight, Lou.”

He returns with a kiss against his curls, content against Harry’s solid warmth. “Night, Haz.”

Harry falls asleep quickly, and Louis follows closely behind, lulled by the steady hum of his breaths. The next time he wakes there’s considerably more light in his room, and he’s vaguely aware of his mother’s voice and a clump of hair in his mouth. He blinks his eyes open just in time to see his mum standing at his open door, hand glued to the knob and jaw slack. Louis’ about to growl and ask her what her problem is when he realizes the hair in his mouth is Harry’s, and the warm matter curved against his chest is his body.

His awareness comes roaring back at once, and before he’s even able to spit Harry’s hair out of his mouth, his mum snaps out of her daze and backs out of his room, pulling the door with her.  _Cue denial._

As soon as the door snaps closed, Louis sighs, throwing his head back against the pillow. It’s enough to wake Harry because he begins to stir, stifling a yawn. Louis has two options: either he can follow down the same road his mum will inevitably take of denial and lack of acknowledgement, and not tell Harry what she just saw, or he could take the higher road and have Harry freak out.

Harry shuffles onto his back, craning his neck to look at Louis, sending him a sedated and very oblivious smile. “Morning, love.”

Turns out, Louis doesn’t have much of a choice after all, because all he does is blink and Harry’s frowning in curiosity. “Bad dream?” he asks.

“You could say that.”

Harry’s eyebrow pinch further.

“My mum may or may not have just walked in to see us curled together half-naked.”

Louis feels Harry’s entire body tense against him, eyes wild and breath halted. “What?” he asks, very gravely.

“I’m sorry. I must’ve forgotten to lock the door, and by the time I was awake, it was already too late.”

Harry sits up, wiping his finger across his brow. “Shit,” he curses.

Louis feels the hesitation in his muscle as he pushes past it to rest a gentle hand against Harry’s back. Harry doesn’t flinch away, so he takes that as a good sign as he sits up next to him, kissing his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, I swear. It’s just my mum.”

Harry ignores him. “It’s not a big deal, right? I mean, so, whatever. We just tell her we got tangled up in each other in our sleep. That happens.”

Louis wavers in his reply, chewing on his lip warily. “Harry,” he eventually says, carefully choosing his words, “I really don’t think there’s a point. If she didn’t already know, then I’m sure she suspected. She knows  _I’m_  gay, remember?”

“We can’t just tell her.” Harry glowers at Louis in disbelief.  

Louis sighs. “She won’t tell, Harry. Trust me. The last thing she’d want to do is have your dad thinking that her own son corrupted you into being a homosexual.”

Harry fixes his eyes in front of them, jaw set tight, but makes no move to argue further.

“It might even be nice, to have at least one person not to hide from,” Louis offers in an attempt at comfort. There’s truth in his words, though Louis wonders if that will mean much if his mum goes on pretending that she has no idea.

Harry swallows so hard it’s nearly audible. He buries his face into his hands, and lets out what sounds an awful lot like a wail.

“Harry,” Louis says, half in reassurance, half in confusion, but falls short when he can’t think of anything else to say. Moments pass between them, Harry’s face still in his hands and Louis frozen next to him. Eventually, wary of upsetting Harry further, Louis breaks the silence by asking, “Why are you so scared? Is it because you don’t want it getting back to your dad, or is it because someone knows, period?”

Harry turns to look at him, eyes flashing in irritation. Louis blinks back blankly, holding his ground. It’s a reasonable question, he thinks.

Harry eventually caves, sighing as his shoulders noticeably sink in. “It’s not - I just - I didn’t think. I wasn’t ready for our bubble to burst. What’s it going to be like when it’s no longer just us?”

Louis halts, then nods in understanding. He gets it. As much as he’d love to flaunt Harry about, having the entire world know this is his boyfriend, he also understands the appeal of the safe, little world that only they are - or,  _were_  - privy to. There’s no one to get involved, no one to offer their two cents, no one to weasel their way inside. No one to tell them what they have is wrong.

He has no idea what to say to this, so instead he settles for laying another kiss against his bare shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” he offers feebly.

Harry lets out a long breath, whether in defeat or frustration, Louis’ not sure. He tilts his chin though, looking down over his eyelashes and cheekbones at Louis. Louis offers the smallest of smiles, and after a moment, Harry returns it, the corners of his mouth turning up. He looks too tired, and Louis gets the feeling it’s not just from their middle-of-the-night activity.

“I should go,” Harry concludes.

“You don’t want to be here when I talk to her?”

“No, I just - “ he shakes his head. “I’m not ready for that.”

Louis’ disappointment must be clear because Harry sighs, pushing the hair off his forehead as he looks him straight in the eyes. “It’s not like I won’t be back. I’m not going to hide from her. I just don’t think I’m  _there_  today. I get the feeling this is a conversation you two need to have alone.”

Louis sighs, nodding, knowing he’s probably right.

Harry pulls himself from Louis to get off the bed, searching the floor for his t-shirt. Louis’ gut heats at the thought of Harry tossing it over his head in heated passion. He feels a thrill that last night  _actually_  happened, that it wasn’t just a dream. Before he can think any further into it and subsequently get himself hard, Louis forces himself to stand with Harry, trying to locate a t-shirt among the many discarded about.   

Before Harry can open his bedroom door, Louis tugs him back by the hips, pulling him flush against his front. He ghosts his lips along Harry’s neck, stopping at his ear. “I quite enjoyed last night.”

Harry presses his lips together, holding back his pleased smirk, his cheeks colouring. “Mmhmm?”

“Are you try to say you didn’t have as much fun?” he murmurs hotly against his skin.

“It was alright.” He shrugs cooly, though the grin that finally breaks through gives him away.

Louis retaliates by squeezing his sides and latching onto his neck. “Just alright?” he growls. “Didn’t sound like it by the way you were moaning my name and coming in your trousers.”

Harry laughs, breathless, cheeks colouring brighter. He squirms in Louis’ hold, pushing back as his bum knocks into Louis’ crotch. Louis slides his fingers under the hem of Harry’s shirt, tips against his smooth skin and nose in his curls, taking in his scent. Give him a few seconds longer, and he’ll  _surely_  be hard.

Harry tilts his head back, catching Louis’ eyes as he smirks. “Okay,” he whispers as if telling a secret, “it was pretty great.”

“And I didn’t go too far?”

Harry hesitates, running his eyes across Louis’ face as he considers. “No, it was okay.” After a moment he corrects himself by saying, “it was good.”

Louis nods, kissing him hard. “Good.”

Upstairs, his mum is nowhere to be seen, which is a relief to Harry as it is to Louis, who manages to sneak one last kiss at the doorway despite Harry’s cautious resistance. When Louis lets him know he’ll call him as soon as he talks to his mum, Harry’s face darkens into worry as if he had already forgotten the looming situation. He nods, forces a smile and scampers out into the early spring air.

Louis finds his mum out in the garden alone, sitting out on the patio set and smoking a cigarette. She looks up as he comes out, but says nothing, returning to stare at the rosebush in mild fascination.

Louis approaches slowly, as if nearing a landmine. Once he sits down across from her, he reaches for her pack of cigarettes, pulling one out for himself. She watches him from the corner of her eye, looking like there might be a comment on the tip of her tongue, but he lights it and she doesn’t tell him to stop.

Louis smokes half the cigarette, his mother still avoiding his gaze, when he gives in and takes a deep breath. “So,” he says, “how should we do this? You reckon we should go about ignoring it like we do everything else?”

“Please, Louis,” she says tiredly, ashing her cigarette on the corner of the tray, “I don’t need your snark right now.”

Louis leans back in his chair, pressing his lips shut. His mum is at least looking at him now, though her face is devoid of nearly all expression. If she’s angry, upset, or questioning, Louis has no way to know. “It was, you know,” he says finally, “what you thought it was.”

Her eyes slip shut, staying that way as Louis takes another entire drag of his cigarette. When she does open them again, they don’t read any clearer than before.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Suppose I thought I’d get a good knocking. Chastise me a bit for corrupting the reverend’s son with my homosexual super powers.”

She shoots him a heavy look, now clearly unimpressed. She doesn’t say anything at first, taking longer than necessary to put out her cigarette. She doesn’t look at Louis as she says, “Why are you so out to get me? What have I done except want the best for you and this family?”

Even though Louis was expecting something like that, his mouth still falls open. He expects it, yet he never stops being surprised by her utter inability to see anything outside of herself. He can’t think of a word to say in reply to that, so his mum cuts in, saying, “The reverend’s son, Louis? What were you thinking? You’ve done a lot of stupid stuff - ”

“He’s an equally willing party,” Louis interrupts with a tense jaw. “And despite the fact that you only seem to see him as the reverend’s son, he’s actually his own person. A brilliant person who I happen to fancy quite a lot.”

She shakes her head, reaching for her pack of cigarettes and pulls out another. She lights it, taking a drag before saying, “Does it ever cross your mind how the family’s going to look when you do these things? We were just beginning to regain a little standing after the stunt you pulled in school. Do you think it was easy? Recovering from something like that? Now after a little over two months of being here, you go and get involved with Harry? I swear, it’s like you purposely go out and do these things just to make me look bad.”

“For Christ’s sake, mother,” Louis snaps, what’s left of his cigarette now squished between his fingers, “not everything is about you. You’re free to go and concoct this perfect fucking fairytale life, but I have never and will never want a part of it. What I do - with Ben, with Harry, with any other bloke - is for  _me_ , and I’m not going to play along.” Louis chucks the broken cigarette into the ashtray, only now noticing the uncontrolled pounding inside of his chest. “When will you get that what I do in life has nothing to do with you? It’s about  _me_ , who  _I_  am, and what  _I_  want.”

“Exactly, Louis,” she explodes. “It’s about  _you_. You only think about you, and what you want. You don’t think about me or the family. You bring scandal into the family, have the entire village looking at and talking about us, and then you just leave. You let us deal with it. Now look, you’re doing the same thing with Harry. Scandal hits, and you’ll be back in London, and not only will the family have to deal with it, but he will too, and it won’t matter to you. You’ll be out on the lash, laughing all over London.”

Louis stares at her, at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Are you serious?” he eventually manages to spit out, voice grave. “You really think I left as a ‘fuck you’ to the family? Do you really think you having to deal with a little backlash from this bigoted, hateful community was worse than me having to hear that I’m disgusting and an abomination every single day? You would’ve rather I stayed for that?”

“I would’ve rather you not slept with your bloody teacher in the first place.”

“Well, I did, mother. I like blokes. I always will, and I’m not going to apologize for not pretending like you have every goddamn day of your life since moving to this godawful town.”

“I did what I had to, Louis. For you and your sister to have a good life. You don’t remember what it was like after Mark left us. You don’t know the struggle I was in, and you don’t know how the church helped us. Without this church, this community, who knows where we’d be now. You’ve lived a pretty blessed life. If you’d only just understand.”

Louis does remember though. He remembers their shitty, little flat in this awful neighborhood in Doncaster that smelt like piss and was known for having at least one stabbing a week. He remembers being eight and having to take care of his crying baby sister who only wanted her mum who was out working the night shift. Louis remembers being scared, rocking his sister, and allowing himself to cry only once she was asleep. He remembers walking to school with pepper spray in his pocket, remembers eating out of only yellow boxes and cans, and he remembers how his life changed for the better after they moved to Holmes Chapel on the advice of his mum’s friend. He also remembers not understanding why he had to lie by saying that he and Lottie had the same dad, one that died shortly after she was born, but knowing he had to do it anyway.

“I get it,” Louis says slowly, once the memories have washed over him. His life growing up in Holmes Chapel had been okay, after all, certainly better than staying in Doncaster would’ve been. His mum met Dan, a decent man and the only to stick around. They have a nice home, he has beautiful sisters. He gets it, but he wishes it didn’t have to be at the price of his sexuality, of who he is. “Okay, I get it. I know. I know that you did what you had to, but - I don’t want to lie and pretend anymore. At least not about me. I’m not ashamed. I know I was a shit as a kid, but it’s not about that anymore.”  

She watches him, thoughtful, as if processing his words. Her cigarette is nearly at the filter now, and she finishes it with short, hurried puffs, the silence hanging between them.

“I’m not with Harry because I want to get back at you,” Louis says once she gives no reply. “I’m with him because I really like him.”

She sighs, exhausted. “But the reverend’s son, Louis, really?”

“It just happened.”

She sighs a second time, tapping her fingers against the glass table. “So, what are you two planning on doing? Is he going to tell his parents?”

“I don’t know. Not right now, at least. We just started - I’m the first bloke he’s ever been with.” Louis shrugs. “There’s no rush.”

“I thought you were done lying and pretending.” His mum smirks tightly with a raised eyebrow.

Louis rolls his eyes, though the tension feels noticeably thinner than it did just a few, short minutes earlier. “It’s for him.”

She exhales, fingers rubbing against her temple. “You know he can’t sleep over anymore, right?” is what she ends up saying.

“Mum,” Louis whines, “I’m twenty-two years old. I’ve lived with my boyfriend before.”

“Yes, but right now you live with your younger sisters.”

“They don’t even know we’re together.”

“But they will eventually,” she points out, “and they’ll remember all the times I let your boyfriend sleep over in your bed.”

Louis groans, folding his arms across his chest. He’s sulking, so what. He was looking forward to many more nights of dry humping, followed by mornings of waking up with a half-naked, warm Harry curled up in his arms. Maybe he  _should’ve_  listened to Harry, and left the whole thing unacknowledged. There’s nothing left to say now - he knows there’s no way for him to win this one, so he just pouts.

Eventually, his mum reaches across the table, taking ahold of his hand in hers. He tenses up, taken aback, but if she notices, she continues anyway. “Boo, I know I’ve let you down, I know I’ve disappointed you, but you know everything I do is for you and your sisters to have a better life. I don’t want to ever end up in the same situation I was in when you and Lottie were young. This town, it really did save us.”

Louis looks towards their elm tree swaying in the wind, feeling the tension seep from his shoulders. “But you didn’t stand up for me,” he eventually murmurs, the slightest of cracks creeping into his words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she says, sounding more genuine than Louis’ heard her in a long time. “I was taken aback. I didn’t know what to do. I  _still_  don’t know what to do. I know I could’ve handled it better, but you have to understand, you were out of control. Then you had an affair with your teacher and you wouldn’t talk to me about it, and then you were gone, and I was left to clean up a mess that I didn’t even understand.”

Louis sighs, feeling his entire body cave. It doesn’t erase the hurt that was caused, the crushing disappointment he felt when his mum blamed him, then retreated. All he wanted was for someone to stand up for him,  _his mum_  at the very least, but she couldn’t even do that. Though the role that he played in it had never occurred to him. She wasn’t there for him, but maybe, in a way, he didn’t let her. As far as she knew, as far as Louis let her know, Ben could’ve just been the cherry on top of the trouble he was already causing, another one of his menacing schemes. Louis’ not sure he’ll ever be able to excuse the way she let him down, but maybe he could forgive her, one day.

“Did you agree with them?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“That I’m some evil sinner who needs to be saved from disgusting, cock-sucking ways?”

There’s hesitation, though it’s quick, and Louis almost feels surprised when she shakes her head. “No, sweetie, of course I don’t agree with that. You’re my son.”

Louis looks away again, hoping to hide the fact that his eyes are prickling with tears. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Even to me? All this time-”

“I’m sorry, Louis,” is all she says, but when Louis turns to look at her, she’s watching him with sad, heartbroken eyes. Maybe it’s not everything Louis was hoping for, but it’s something, at least.

She squeezes his hand once more, and slowly, he squeezes back, offering the smallest of smiles.

It’s a start.


	4. envy

By mid-June, Louis is not only tolerating being back in Holmes Chapel, but he’s actually bordering on acceptance as well. Thanks to Harry’s initial persistence, he finds himself spending a surprising amount of time with Harry’s friends - and actually _enjoying_ it. If any of them think it’s weird that a twenty-two year old is spending time with a bunch of kids barely out of secondary, none of them let on.

As much as Louis had planned to sulk around the entire summer, he actually finds himself happy to trade drinks on the patio along the Thames and long nights out at the club for lazy days by the lake, drinking and swimming. The fact that Harry is there to share it with him makes it all the better, _except_ for the part where Louis’ meant to keep his hands to himself when not in the privacy of his room. Not even Niall knows about them, though sometimes Louis wonders if he’s caught on yet. While Louis likes to think himself as a good actor - he’d hope so anyway, after thousands spent on acting school - it’s another thing to have to be constantly aware of what is appropriate for just mates and what is not. Apparently, constantly touching each other’s waists or staring longingly after one another is not so platonic.

The worst part of not being able to touch and cuddle and kiss Harry whenever he wants to is that he also has no way of laying claim when Abigail gets a little too close or flirts a little too hard. Louis likes her enough - she’s sweet and funny and able to understand his dry humor, but that makes it all the worse when he has no valid excuse to hate her outside of his blatant jealous rage. If Harry notices her advances at all, he hardly shows much resistance.

Harry is with _him_ , Harry isn’t even into girls, Louis _knows_ this, yet - yet, he still can’t seem to help that this is the most jealous that he has _ever_ been. The last thing Louis wants to do is whine and beg for attention, he doesn’t want to be _that_ boyfriend, so all he can do is clench his fists and pout underwater while Harry hoists her up on his shoulders for a chicken fight. If anyone should have their crotch against Harry’s head, it should be _him_. He thinks that’s a pretty fair request.

It’s all the more infuriating that it seems like whenever Harry’s not with Louis, he’s with her. At school, revising, watching movies, touring Manchester, swimming, lunch, dinner, fucking dessert - and when they’re not together, they’re texting. While Louis’ working, they’ll often be there giggling at the end of his bar. Louis should have an entire paycheck going towards the amount of dishes he’s broken.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t trust Harry, and it’s not even that he's an overly insecure guy. He doesn’t think Harry will cheat on him, or leave him for her, but he hates the fact that she _thinks_ she has a chance, that she has something ultimately special with him that Louis doesn’t. He hates the fact that Harry does nothing to extinguish this idea, but if anything, seemingly encourages it.  

Louis doesn’t officially lose his cool until they’re alone in his bedroom one afternoon, Harry excitedly chattering on about all of his and Abigail’s shared classes at Manchester in the fall. It was almost tolerable the first day he talked about their plans to carpool, of all the activities they’re going to do and clubs they’re going to join - maybe even after the second day. But by the seventh, Louis is so far past his breaking point that it’s a miracle that he still has a head attached to his body.

“So, exactly how pleased is your father over your new girlfriend?”

His heart skips a beat as soon as the words are out of his mouth, skin buzzing with adrenaline. Harry’s gaze lands heavily upon him, harsh lines across his forehead. Louis pretends not to notice as he busies himself by picking clothing off the floor, attempting to appear blasé over his accusation. Though he reckons that if he were to glance at himself in the mirror, he’d look anything but casual, his cheeks most likely red and jaw set tight. Louis might be an actor - he can pretend to love dog food for his imaginary pet, can pretend to be a straight, pussy-loving lothario - but he’s quickly realizing that the last thing he can do is act as _himself_.

“What?” is what Harry eventually comes out with, voice laced with confusion and just a bit of ice.

Louis shrugs, sniffing his t-shirt before decisively throwing it in the hamper. “Just saying, you spend enough time with her that it’s only natural to assume that she’s your girlfriend.”

“Except for the fact that I already have a boyfriend,” he says unfathomably.  

“Yeah, who your dad doesn’t know about. Or her. Or anyone for that matter.”

“Your mum and sister do,” he says, defensive, like that would make any sort of difference.

Louis snorts. “Woo,” he says dully. His mum may be more accepting of them than he had originally expected, but she’s not exactly willing to throw a coming out party and have the entire village know - _especially_ the reverend. Lottie, on the other hand, is just _Lottie_. He doesn't think he even had to explicitly tell her; There was never any proper conversation about it, she just kind of knew. 

He still doesn’t dare look over at Harry, too scared he’ll lose his nerve once he sees the rage and hurt flashing through his eyes. This is the first time Louis’ said anything that would get him properly angry, but he didn’t have to to know that he’s already far too weak when it comes to Harry. So instead, Louis sniffs another sweatshirt, this time folding it to stick back in his drawer.

“Are you being serious right now?” Harry eventually asks. “I thought you were okay with no one knowing for awhile.”

“Yes, but how long is awhile, Harry? It’s been close to two months. And frankly, I’m getting quite sick of hearing about Abigail all the time. I’m sure she’s already picking out her wedding colours.”

“We’re friends,” Harry defends, “she knows that.”  

Finally, Louis turns to him, arching an eyebrow. _Screw it_ , looks like he’ll be that boyfriend after all. “Are you sure about that? Because she sure seems to treat you like her boyfriend with the way she’s always hanging off of you and giggling over your stupid jokes and texting you all the fucking time.”

“She does not!”

“Oh really? Check your phone right now. I dare you.”

Harry’s mouth snaps shut, caught.

“See!”

“We were planning when to go back up to Manchester for another tour!”

Louis scoffs, shaking his head in aggravation as he goes back to picking items off his floor. He doesn’t even bother with the smell test anymore, he just chucks them all into the laundry with force. He wishes they had enough weight to them to allow for more of a dramatic effect than just fluttering down into the hamper anticlimactically.

“Are you trying to say that I can’t have friends?” Harry demands.

“No, don’t even - don’t even try to make it into that,” Louis snaps, collecting a fist full of clothes and throwing them all at once. Half of them don’t even reach the hamper, splaying all over the floor

“Well, what is it then?”

Ignoring his clothes, Louis turns to him. “You just let her treat you like her boyfriend because it takes any questions off you. No one will ever question if you’re actually in a relationship with someone else, with a bloke, because oh, look, you already have a thing with Abi.”

“That is so - so - ” Harry fumbles with a raised voice before exploding with, “That’s so unfair, Louis! How can you even accuse me of something like that? Like I’m some shit person who’s actually using someone like that?”

“I’m not saying you’re purposely using her, I’m just saying it all makes the situation that much easier, doesn’t it?"

Harry’s off the bed now, and with the way his face is all scrunched up and red, Louis’ actually waiting for him to come over and smack him. “God, you’re such a - such a - ”

“A what?” Louis pushes, blood curling. They’re close now, noses nearly bumping as they shoot seething glares at one another.

“A bastard! You’re being a right bastard right now!”  

“Yeah, well you’re not much better for constantly flirting with her right under my nose,” he accuses.

“I don’t - God, you’re so infuriating! I don’t flirt with her! And what does it even matter, anyway? I don’t even like girls!”

“But everyone thinks you do!”

Harry growls in frustration, stomping his foot against the ground. It would be entirely endearing if it weren’t for the fact that Louis is furious with him. Okay, it’s still a little bit endearing, not that he’d ever let Harry know that. 

“I’m not going to have a coming out party right now, you know that, and I’m not going to stop being friends with her just because you’re irrationally jealous.”

“Fine,” Louis snaps, “be a coward for the rest of your life.”

Louis can see the moment the insult hits Harry, visible as a slap across his face. He blinks, mouth open in shock, and quickly, it’s replaced by an expression of utter woundedness. Louis feels instant regret. When Harry recovers, his expression turns flat and grim, eyes flashing across Louis’ in quiet anguish. “Fine,” he repeats with an unexpectedly soft voice. “If that’s the way you see it then there’s nothing left to say here. I’m going home.”

He heads towards the door, and Louis rushes after him, panic flourishing inside his chest. “Harry, come on.” Harry ignores him, hand on the doorway, face flushed red. “You just called me a bastard! How could you be any angrier at me for that?”

“Because, how dare you try and make me feel bad for not being ready to come out! If you weren’t okay with it then you should’ve told me! Not accused me of using a friend for my own benefit and then called me a coward for it!”

Louis bites down hard onto his lip, mind racing. There’s an apology lodged inside his throat, cutting like thick wires against his esophagus. Harry stares at him, waiting, but nothing comes. His stubbornness has never worked out well for him; his inability to admit defeat or wrong has gotten him into enough trouble over the years. Yet the feat seems impossible, even with Harry looking at him the way he is, so sad and pained.

“Right. I’m going.” Harry yanks the door open and disappears down the hallway before Louis has a chance to yank him back. Louis follows behind with little awareness, climbing the stairs behind him and watching mutely as he shoves his shoes on at the front door, completely ignoring his presence.

He feels stupid and helpless just standing there and not saying anything, especially when he knows that all Harry wants is a simple apology. That’s the thing - it should be simple. Usually in these situations, the guilt comes to Louis later on, once his anger has dissipated and he’s left reflecting over his words. This time, the regret was instant, and he knows an apology is necessary, but his pride is something he holds onto too closely. And he’s mad - rightfully so. He’s mad that Harry has so little care towards his feelings toward Abi. She’s his ex-girlfriend, after all, so doesn’t he have the right not to want them spending so much time together? Is that not perfectly reasonable? Of course he doesn’t actually think Harry is a coward, but how can he apologize for that without discounting everything else he said and still stands by?

Once he’s got his shoes on, Harry stands up, eyes pausing on Louis long enough to allow another opportunity to say something. Louis presses his lips tighter. Once Harry realizes it’s not coming, he lets out a guttural groan, and leaves through the front door without a word. For a brief moment, Louis considers following him down the driveway. He doesn’t though, instead he stands there helplessly while the door slams shut. He continues standing there as if Harry might actually return until Lottie appears at his side minutes later.

“What happened there?”

Louis looks at her, then back to the door, shaking his head before storming to his room like a petulant child.

Downstairs, he paces the length of his room three times before slouching on the end of his bed, arms wrapped across his chest. He can’t tell whether anger or guilt is winning out. He supposes he feels a bit of panic too - after all, it is their first fight. He hopes what he said doesn’t make it their only.

After twenty minutes, and the hundred and fifth time of replaying the fight, Louis feels overwhelming guilt and not much else. He digs his phone from his pocket, dials Harry’s number and then immediately hangs up. The thought of Harry already talking to Abi about this makes him angry all over again, as if Louis actually knows for a fact that he is. He fumes over that until logic returns, reminding him that in order for Harry to do that, Abi would actually have to _know_ about them, and then this fight wouldn’t even be happening in the first place, and Louis fumes all the more.

Another ten minutes after that, the guilt has returned, and Louis opens a new text to Harry. _you’re not actually a coward_ , he types then erases it. _that was shit of me._ erase. _i’m sorry :(_. Erase. He throws his phone at the opposite end of his mattress, and then stands, heading towards his door to yell for Lottie.

When she meets him in the rec room, Louis’ already wrapped up in a wool blanket with the telly on. He says, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then what do you want?”

“Hang out with me, please,” he says, throwing in a pout for good measure.

She sighs, relenting as she squeezes in next to him, pulling some of the blanket for herself. She waits until commercials before saying, “I already know what it was about, anyway. The entire family does. The walls aren't thick, you know.”

He scowls. “Good, then all the more reason not to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t going to shame you, you know,” she says anyway. “I was just going to say that I understand. You’re a proper prat for the way you handled it, but I understand.”

Louis peeks over his mound of blankets to look at her with cautious curiosity. “You do?”

“Sure,” Lottie says. “Having to hide that you’re together can’t be easy.” Louis nods, and she says, “Though you should probably remind yourself of the reason why he doesn’t want to come out, and that it’s most likely harder on him than it is you. You have nothing to lose, not like he does.”

“I know that.” He sighs. “I know, I just wish he didn’t have to spend all his time with her.”  

“He spends all his time with you.”

Louis snaps his mouth shut, eyebrows furrowed. She’s right in the sense that when Louis’ not working and Harry’s not at school, they’re together, yet that’s still something like thirty hours a week that they’re apart, and well - “Whatever,” Louis mutters, “I said I didn’t want to talk about this.”

Louis catches her smirk and wishes he hadn’t, because he feels anger bubble up all over again. “Are you going to apologize?”

“Lottie,” he says between clenched teeth, and she just blinks back at him expectantly. He groans, and says, “Maybe. But for now, can you please just let me mope?”

And he does mope, all the way up until the following afternoon when there’s still no word from Harry. Not that he’s tried to contact him either, but still. Harry has things to apologize for as well. Louis didn’t much appreciate being called a bastard, even if it were a little bit true.

Louis makes it until after dinner before finally caving. He texts Harry, asking to meet him at the bridge. He almost expects no reply at all, but two minutes later, he receives a text agreeing.

Blame it on his stubbornness, but Louis’ usually the one to hold out during fights - even if he knows in his heart that he’s mainly responsible. It’s how he’s gone about arguments his whole life. He likes the validation it brings when someone cares enough to come to him first. So not only is the initiation weird to him, but so is the feeling of the apology that sits on his tongue as his feet drag down the street towards the bridge.

Louis doesn’t wait, certain that if he gives it any longer the apology will flee right back into his throat and refuse to come out. As soon as he sees Harry, barely even close enough for a proper greeting, he lets it out in a rush. “I’m really sorry.”

Harry blinks like even he was surprised by the admission, but slowly, he nods in acceptance. He sighs, hair falling in front of his eyes as he kicks at his own feet. “You don’t have to be.”

“I kind of do. I was a proper dick saying that to you. You’re not a coward.”

Harry looks up at him meekly through his fringe. What he says is the last thing Louis was expecting. “You were right. About Abi.”

Louis stares, straight-faced. “Which part?”

“Most of it,” Harry admits. Louis continues to stare at him curiously, and he lets out a dejected sigh, as if he was hoping he wouldn’t have to elaborate further. “I met up with her after school today, to talk. I asked her if she still had feelings for me.”

“And?”

“And…” Harry pauses, as if summoning up the words. “And she told me she did.”

Louis blinks, not at all surprised, but his heart skips a beat all the same while he waits for Harry to continue.

“And I told her that I’m with you, and that - well, that I’m gay.”

“You did?” Louis asks, half in disbelief, half in utter glee. He nearly reaches for Harry’s waist to spin him around in circles while kissing his face. He doesn’t, though, remembering that not only are they standing out in the open, but prior to three minutes ago, they were still very much in a fight.

Harry nods, looking abashed but slightly proud. “Yeah…” He ducks his head again, hiding a smile while he scratches behind his ear. “I mean, you were right in a way…it made me think, and I was acting like I was ashamed of you, and I’m not. Telling my dad is one thing, but there’s no reason for me not to tell her, or Niall.” He takes a step forward, looking up at Louis shyly. “I was being a bit of a coward.”

“You weren’t. You aren’t,” Louis admonishes at once, having little control as he reaches to run a few fingers through Harry’s curls fondly.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind because his own fingers circle around Louis’ other wrist, tugging. They’re close now, and Louis hopes for Harry’s sake that no one decides to go out for an evening stroll by the river because he reckons their body language leaves little room for interpretation. When Harry speaks again his voice is lowered, a certain rawness to it. “I love you, and - and there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t want to keep hiding from it. I don’t want to be afraid.”

“You love me?” Louis questions, almost incredulous, chest tightening.

Harry gives a tiny nod, lips turned up into a timid smile. “Mmhmm,” he murmurs, hand sliding down to squeeze Louis’ fingers. Louis notes the swallow, the waver in his lip, the way Harry looks like he might actually be scared that Louis won’t return it.

Louis doesn’t even bother to look around them as he places both hands on either side of his head, pulling him in for a crushing kiss. Harry doesn’t pull away, just laughs quietly against his mouth, kissing him back. “I love you too,” Louis whispers, hardly breaking away.

And he does love Harry. It’s something he’s thought about for awhile, for weeks, possibly even a month now. It may be too soon; they haven't even been together for two months, only been hanging out for a bit longer than that, but Louis knows it better than he’s known anything before. He knows it in the way he misses Harry the second that he leaves, in the way he’s somehow managed to become capable of waiting for sex, and in the way he’s already had elaborate fantasies of returning home to Harry and their cats - and possibly, imagined children. Even in the way that he suddenly views returning to Holmes Chapel as a blessing, or the way that he’s been making efforts to actually be _decent_ to the people in the community and give them a chance, if only for Harry. Louis’ loved people before, but he’s never been this certain of it.

Harry beams at him, all gooey and fresh-eyed. “I’ve never been in love before.” He giggles.

“Well,” Louis says, brushing his lips against the corner of Harry’s mouth, “I’m honored to be the first.” _And the only_ , he tacks on silently, figuring he might be getting a step ahead of himself if he were to voice such a thing out loud. It might be ridiculous, but Louis feels it nonetheless.

Louis figures their moment of recklessness is over, but Harry continues kissing him, fingers gripping strongly at his waist. Louis hardly puts up a fight as they grin dopily into each other’s mouths. When they finally do pull away, Louis continues to run his fingers through Harry’s hair, soft curls wrapped loose around his fingers. Harry all but mewls, ducking into it like a kitten. Louis’ so done for.

“What did she say, anyway?” Harry blinks at him in confusion, and Louis reminds him by saying, “Abi.”

Harry nods, his eyes clearing as he returns to reality. “She was surprised, and probably a little hurt. But, I mean, all things considered, it was okay. She didn’t yell at me or call me names, so that’s good.” He shrugs, sighing. “She said she needed time to process it all, and that she’d talk to me soon. I really didn’t want to hurt her.”

“I know,” Louis says, continuing to pet his hair consolingly.

“I think I’m going to tell Niall tomorrow.”

Louis raises a pleased eyebrow. “Really?”

He nods, swallowing. “Yeah, will you come?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Harry smiles, appreciative, kissing him once more.

If Louis tells him he loves him three more times in the two hours before they head home, it’s only because he can.

*

After work the next day, Louis meets Harry at Niall’s, where they’re out in the garden revising. Harry greets him by intertwining their hands underneath the table, and Louis returns with a sappy grin that doesn’t seem to make it past Harry. Niall doesn’t seem to mind, let alone notice, too focused on his notes.

Harry’s eyes flick across Louis’ as if searching for encouragement, and Louis responds with a nod and a squeeze of his fingers.

“Hey, Ni? Can we talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah sure, mate, what’s up?” He glances up, though his eyes are glazed, still foggy with math equations.  

Harry keeps his eyes on Louis’ a moment longer, as if attempting to draw up all his courage. “Me and Lou,” he starts, forcing his gaze over to Niall, “we’re together. Like together-together. As in he’s my boyfriend.”

Niall blinks back at them for one long, excruciating moment before he’s grinning wide and nodding. “Brilliant. Finally. I figured as much.”

“You did?”

“Oh yeah, lovesick puppies, you two are.”

Harry blushes, and Louis tries to hide his pleased grin. “So, you don’t care?”

Niall’s eyebrows knit into one pale caterpillar across his forehead. “No, you two are so cute together.” Louis’ the one to blush now, feeling like he should thank him, but before he can, Niall looks to Harry and continues, “I already knew you weren’t into girls the way I am.”

“You did?” Harry asks, blanching.

“Oi, no need to freak out, mate,” Niall says, waving him off. “A best mate knows. Plus, it never bothered me. All the better for me, just means I didn’t have to compete. Girls go crazy over those dimples and curls.” He nods at Louis, grinning. “You too, I reckon.”

“You caught me,” Louis admits, tugging at the springy bit near Harry's ear.

Harry grins, ducking his head away in modesty, said dimple indenting his cheek. Louis pokes it, and Harry cackles, whacking his hand away.

“Now, if you two wouldn’t mind,” Niall says, turning back to his notebook, “I’d rather not flunk my final A-level on account of you two flirting.”

They look at each other with closed mouths, lips wavering as they hold back giggles. Harry manages to last a total of three seconds before he’s breaking, letting out a cackle so loud his face nearly splits in two. Louis doesn’t have a clue what they’re laughing about, but he can’t help but follow along with him, earning a goodnatured eyeroll from Niall and a, “See, cute, I tell you.” Harry makes him feel so bloody young again that it’s almost like _he_ should be doing his A-levels along with them.

Louis decides he should leave them to their revision now that his job as moral support is no longer needed. Harry tells Niall he’ll be right back, skipping along with Louis, and without any warning, he tugs him into Niall’s shed as they pass.

He pulls the door shut behind them, leaving only a sliver of light to spill across the cluttered floor. Louis’ already smiling when Harry kisses him roughly, back knocking against what he thinks is a lawnmower. Harry keeps his hands pressed flat against Louis’ cheeks, kisses hardly faltering as he murmurs, “Love you.”

“Love you,” he echoes, nearly choking as Harry pushes his tongue inside his mouth. He whimpers in surprise, hands slipping to grab a handful of his little, yet glorious, bum through his jeans.

Harry presses forward, pushing their crotches together. Despite the fact that they’re inside a musty shed, and that Niall’s just outside and not the least bit oblivious, the urge to get down on his knees and finally just suck Harry’s cock is overwhelming. He sucks Harry’s tongue further into his mouth instead, and Harry allows it, pressing their bodies impossibly close by slipping a leg between Louis’. They’ve gotten off by rutting against each other exactly four times now, and like he’s a teenager, it’s a treat to Louis every time.

“What time do you work tomorrow?” Harry manages.

“Five.”

“I’ll come over in the afternoon,” he says, and if that’s not enough, he slides his hand down between their bodies, fingers slipping between Louis’ thighs and thumb pressing against his zipper.

Louis attempts to swallow down a moan, but it comes out as some sort of yelp that a dying animal would make. They might’ve rubbed off against each other, and Louis was allowed the pleasure of cupping him once, but _that_ \- that is definitely new. Louis’ cock twitches at the thought of what that could mean for tomorrow. If he could just see and feel and get his mouth on Harry’s cock, he’d be satisfied for at least another month - if not even longer.

Harry pulls his body away all at once, but they keep kissing for a moment longer, tongues meeting outside of their mouths, a trail of saliva between them. They’ve barely been snogging for five minutes, and Louis is already so incredibly hard. Louis needs to get home and have a very long wank session. Or maybe he should finger himself. Or both. Definitely both. Either way, he needs to get off while thinking of fucking into Harry. His imagination has become very good, serving him well after all of these months of practice. He just wishes he hadn’t left all his vibrators with Aiden. Unfortunately, there aren’t a whole lot of sex shops hanging around Holmes Chapel.

The incredibly weird and ridiculous thing is that a few weeks ago, Louis had actually _asked_ Harry if he was okay with Louis thinking about fucking him. Never in his wildest imagination did Louis ever think that was something he would ever ask someone; what kind of question is that anyway? But he had felt this certain guilt about it, enough that it would affect him while trying to get off. It felt like he was betraying Harry’s trust, imagining him that way, and so vividly, without his permission. This was entirely new for him, uncharted territory he’d never thought he’d cross, as every person about whom he cared about to develop a conscience over had easily and willingly given over their bodies. He had never met someone so protective and guarded over theirs before, and despite the fact that he was directly affected, he found it surprisingly beautiful that Harry put so much care and self-control into it. It made Louis feel all the more special and fortunate to be allowed any touch or kiss, which is why he felt guilt over something he had no permission to be doing. Harry would never have known, but keeping it from him felt too much like lying.

Louis didn’t have many expectations going into it, but Harry had laughed, looking embarrassed, yet vaguely pleased. Louis wasn’t so much surprised by the grant of permission as by what Harry said afterward, murmured into his lips: “I do too, silly.” And while he already hoped as much, that was the first, and only time, Harry admitted out loud to actually _wanting_ to have sex with him just as badly. Louis didn’t look back after that. What Louis originally felt ridiculous for ended up being a blessing, their confession and permission connecting them, even if not physically. Plus, Harry only seemed to appreciate it, kissing him hard and saying with a raw fondness, “Only you would ask for permission to imagine me naked.”

As promised, Harry shows up at his house at noon, still dressed in his school uniform. Now that his mum knows about them, during the day while nobody is home is about the only time they can do some proper messing about. It feels too weird now otherwise, like even with the door closed they’re not fully alone, his mother’s knowledge a set of eyes above his bed.

Louis makes them cheese toasties, one of the only things that he’s able to make, while Harry watches from where he’s perched on the counter. He seems extra smiley today, and with little surprise, Louis ends up distracted by kisses, consequently burning one side of the sandwiches. One is a little less burnt than the other, so he gives that one to Harry.

They eat at the table like civilized humans, though Harry’s still sending him grins that look a lot like he knows something Louis doesn’t, while sliding his foot up the leg of his joggers. Louis all but inhales his sandwich in three bites.

After loading their dishes in the wash, they head to Louis’ room, and Louis swears that their steps are quicker than usual. Their kisses start dirty the second the door shuts behind them, like they’re picking up exactly where they left off in the shed. Louis backs them towards his bed, tugging off Harry’s shirt in the process. He shows no hesitation, immediately helping him by throwing up his arms. Once it’s off, they work on Louis’ together.

They crash onto the mattress, scooching up and rearranging until Louis’ on top. They’re both breathing heavily, Harry already rolling his hips while kissing him desperately.

“Shit, Harry,” he curses, tugging on Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth as his own hips start to grind down.

Harry moans, clawing at his shoulders as Louis ducks to bite and suck at his collarbone, far enough down that he’ll be able to cover it with a collared shirt. Louis starts with his hand on Harry’s thigh, slowly inching up and inside, allowing Harry the time to protest. Nothing comes except for more heavy breathing, so Louis moves it up the rest of the way, cupping Harry’s already hard cock through his wool trousers.

He whimpers, pushing his hands through Louis’ hair. “Yeah, yes.”

Louis keeps his hand on Harry, but removes his mouth from his skin to look up at his eyes, searching. “Yes, what?”

Harry holds his gaze as he says, “You can touch me.”

Louis feels his gut drop into his arse, his cock strain against his zipper. He doesn’t need any more convincing as he fumbles with Harry’s belt and then his zipper. Harry shifts, giving him room as he tugs his trousers and briefs down past his hips, freeing his cock. At first all Louis does is stare down at it, awed, as if he’s found God. “Jesus, it’s beautiful.”

Harry laughs, his cheeks red with more than arousal. He tugs Louis down by the neck, kissing him with a smile. “You’re insane,” he murmurs just as Louis - finally - wraps a full hand around his cock.

Harry gasps, full and throaty, in a way that Louis hasn’t heard yet. Louis groans at the sound, fist gaining momentum. Louis knew Harry was big from the times he felt him through his trousers, but a whole new meaning has arrived now that he’s real and throbbing in his hands. Louis wants to memorize every curve and ridge and vein, wants to get down and look, committing it all to memory. He wants the exact image so he can picture it fucking into him with all the more clarity.

Shit, it’s only been in his hands for less than a minute and already he’s never loved someone’s cock more.

“God, Lou,” Harry whines, hips jerking into his hands.

“Please,” Louis mumbles desperately, only half aware he’s doing so, “can I suck you off?”

Harry lets out something between a growl and a whimper, and Louis stops his hand at work, as if that will give Harry the room to properly consider. He keeps his eyes locked with Harry’s, blinking fixedly.

The wheels in Harry’s head seem to turn visibly as he stares at Louis, searching for the answer in his eyes. Hours seem to pass, though in reality it’s likely only been a few seconds, before Harry nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Louis questions, just to be certain.

“Yes, please. I want you to.”

Louis surges forward, kissing him fast and dirty before all but diving down his torso, nibbling at his thigh. He allows himself a moment to fully inspect his cock, the girth and weight and the sprinkle of hairs that decorate his skin like a treat. Just before bending down to suck at his tip, he remembers that Harry’s never received one of these before. He pauses, giving him a fast rundown, words blending together in impatience. “You can put your hands in my hair, and you can pull a bit if you want to, I like it. I usually have a pretty good gag reflex, but I’m a little rusty, so try not to jerk up too much. It’s easier said than done, especially for your first one, so I’ll hold your hips down, but just try and be aware, okay?”

Harry nods a little helplessly, hair and eyes wild. Louis thinks he probably took about half of that in.

Louis warms him up by taking one small, tentative lick at his tip, already leaking precome that Louis gives himself a moment to taste and savour. He tastes good, just as he expected - fresh, like no one else has ever tasted him before. Harry’s already cursing, balls of his hands pressed into his eye sockets. He’s probably got about two minutes, tops.

Louis takes him in a bit more this time, one hand against his balls and the other holding his hip down. Harry’s fingers do find their way to Louis’ hair once he hollows his cheeks, tongue flat against his underside. At one point, Louis’ feeling a bit too confident and takes too much in, sputtering a bit. He used to be amazing at this - he wasn’t aware gag reflexes grew back. He hopes this has little to no relation to his actual sex abilities. Though Harry doesn’t seem to mind anyway, moaning loudly over the vibrations. He’s doing a good job at keeping his hips steady, so Louis rewards him by sucking at his tip, tongue lapping obscenely.

“Oh fuck, Lou, I love you so much,” Harry curses. “I don’t think I can - this is too - shit, shit, shit.”

Louis can’t help but laugh; Harry _is_ the type to profess his love while receiving a blowjob. Louis was already so hard, but the sounds of approval that Harry is making is enough to cause the arousal in his gut grow even hotter. Louis begins to rock himself against the mattress as he lowers his mouth down Harry’s cock again, slower this time. He’s barely gotten anywhere before Harry’s suddenly letting out a yelp, hot, thick come shooting down the back of Louis’ throat.

Louis pulls off instantly, coughing from the shock of it all, the rest of Harry’s come splattering across his lip and cheek. Once Louis regains breath, he blinks up at Harry, lapping his tongue over the bit sitting on his bottom lip.

Harry’s panting, arms splayed back over his face. When he finally removes them, he looks down at Louis, mortified. “Oh my god, Lou, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean - I didn’t realize that - Are you okay?”

Louis replies by swiping his thumb across his cheek and then sucking it into his mouth, licking it clean. Harry watches him with wide eyes before he’s suddenly laughing, chest rumbling as he tilts his head towards the ceiling.

Louis removes his thumb from his mouth, laughing too, and then Harry’s stretching his arms out towards him, murmuring, “C’mere.”

Louis happily complies, crawling up Harry’s body, tucking him back inside his briefs as he does. He holds himself above Harry with one arm, craning his neck down to kiss him.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles again, embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose. “If I’m going to choke on anyone’s come, I’m happy it’s yours.”

Harry giggles, pushing the hair out of Louis’ eyes. “Aw shucks, do you really mean it?”

“Every word, baby.” Louis winks.

Harry smiles against his mouth, then says, eyes flicking between their bodies, “Do you want to-?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Louis flips off of Harry and onto his back, working his hand down his belly and into the waistband of his joggers.

“Hey,” Harry says, curling into him, “can you like - take it out?”

Louis snaps his neck to look at him, nearly giving himself whiplash, and stares.

“I want to see,” Harry mumbles, turning red.

Louis’ cock twitches and he obliges instantly, shimmying his joggers down his thighs, cock springing free. Harry stares as if in a trance, tongue automatically flicking across his lips. This is _so_ much better than he was ever hoping for coming into today.

Louis licks his palm and puts a hand on himself while Harry continues to stare. Louis stares at _him_ while he starts to wank, taking in the flutter of Harry’s eyelashes and his parted, swollen lips. Even after all this time, Louis is still amazed by his beauty - even more so now that he’s had the honour of having his cock in his mouth. Louis can hardly wait for the day he gets to be buried deep inside of him, hitting places that have never been touched before.

“Hey,” Louis says scratchily, other hand reaching to rest on his neck, tugging lightly, “kiss me, yeah?”

Harry shakes out of his stupor, eyes slipping to Louis’ and then back down. Suddenly, he lets out a loud growl from the back of his throat, and he’s diving in, knocking Louis’ hand out of the way to wrap his own around his cock.

“Shit, Harry. What - ”

“Just let me,” Harry says, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. Like Louis was actually going to stop him.

Harry falters at first, as if suddenly regretting his brash decision. The flick of his wrist is slow, hesitant, like he’s uncertain over his ability. Louis can’t say he minds too much either way. Harry’s hand is on his dick, after all, though he has an inkling that Harry’s a little more capable than he’s letting on.

“Love, hey,” Louis manages to get out through laboured breath, “it’s just a dick. You’ve done this before.”

The lines on his forehead smooth out as his eyes flick up to look at Louis, hand coming to a stop. Louis offers the most encouraging smile he can with a painfully throbbing cock, and Harry shakes his head, chuckling quietly. “I know, it’s just - “

“It’s no different.” Louis threads his fingers through the back of his hair, tugging him close. “Here, just don’t overthink it. Focus on kissing me, and pretend you’re doing it to yourself.” Another thing to add to the list of things he never thought he’d do - coach someone on how to wank him off.

Harry nods, inhaling deeply through his mouth before leaning down to kiss him, his hand slowly picking up pace again. Harry kisses a bit awkwardly at first, clearly still too focused on the movements of his hand, though slowly but surely, Harry presses into it. With a few strokes, Louis can feel Harry become more comfortable, gaining momentum and falling into familiarity.

“Yeah, baby,” Louis coaxes, murmuring against his mouth. “Feels good. You’re amazing.”

Harry huffs out a laugh against his mouth, but Louis’ words must count for something because his strokes seem to fall even more at ease, thumb flicking across his tip as he kisses Louis hard into the pillow.

Louis grips onto Harry’s elbow, nails digging deep, gut pooling with release. “That’s good. I’m really close.”

Harry nods, mumbling an urging, “yeah, yeah,” into his mouth.

Louis comes with a curse and a gasp, and Harry jerks him through it, come spreading. While he lies there, recovering, Harry tucks him back inside his joggers, peppering his face with kisses and grinning against his sweat-slicked skin. Louis absentmindedly runs his hands through his hair, fingers tangling with his damp curls. He’s so bloody in love it hurts.

“Here. C’mere.” Louis pulls him into his mouth, noses bumping as he kisses him, warm and sweet. “That was so good. I’m so proud.”

Harry pulls back to roll his eyes, but he’s grinning goofily nonetheless.

Louis tucks a curl behind his ear, and kisses him on the bridge of his nose. “Hey, you got off your very first penis that isn’t your own, this calls for a celebration.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry chides, whacking Louis’ shoulder, though his eyes are sparkling with amusement and what could be pride.

Louis laughs, running his thumb along his lower lip. “So, tell me, were you planning for this?”

Harry bites the tip of Louis’ finger, grinning innocently over it. “Maybe,” he shrugs, “though the blowjob was a happy surprise.”

“Glad I could be of service,” Louis replies cheekily. “Did you have extra wank sessions practicing for this?” he teases.

“I hate you,” Harry says with a tight jaw.

“No you don’t.” Louis grins, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist to flip them over, pinning him against the mattress. Harry manages to keep his scowl intact, though his legs automatically bracket Louis’ hips. Louis attempts to kiss it away by running his lips from his cheek to his nose and over to his eyebrow.  He nudges his nose against Harry’s earlobe, kissing the tender skin below. “Though, really,” he says seriously, “how do you feel?”

“Good.”

Louis kisses down his jaw to nibble at his chin. “No gay crisis now that you’ve touched a cock? Or perhaps a purity crisis now that you’ve technically had sex?”

“No, not yet anyway.”

“Good. Don’t,” Louis says, rubbing their noses together. “That was too great to regret.”

Harry laughs, craning his neck up to capture Louis’ lips in a proper kiss. “I agree.”

Harry’s hands roam mindlessly across Louis’ chest, fingers lingering over his heartbeat as they exchange languid kisses. His thighs are still wrapped around Louis’ waist, pulling him close, and Louis can feel him half-hard against his stomach already.

“Lou,” he eventually says through a broken kiss, “when we have sex, who’s going to be on top?”

“What?” Louis asks, nearly gaping as he pulls far enough away to look Harry in the eyes properly, just to be certain that he didn’t make up those words coming from his mouth.

Harry blinks up, surprisingly unfazed. “I want to know.”

“Shit, I don’t know, babe,” he manages to get out, skin prickling with heat. “I’m good with either, but - but I’m thinking I should, at least the first couple of times, just so you get an idea what it’s like.”

Harry’s lips purse together, seemingly displeased by the answer. “It’ll hurt.”

“No, it’ll be good. I’ll make sure of it.”

Harry lets out the smallest of huffs, though he argues no further.

“Why?” Louis asks with a silly grin on his face. “Have you been thinking about it?”

Harry shrugs, attempting to look flippant, though the colour in his cheeks gives him away. “Maybe a bit.”

“And what have you been thinking?”

Harry flicks his eyes across Louis, thoughtful and mischievous, like he might not tell him at all, but then he’s sighing, fingers walking along Louis’ shoulder. “I was thinking that maybe I’d want to, soon.”

Louis’ eyebrows jump to his hairline. “Really?”

Harry nods slowly, biting back a smile.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis had known - well, more like hoped - that eventually the day would come. When that day was, though, Louis didn’t have a guess. It seemed more like a mystical date far off in the distant future than anything real and tangible. Heck, as little as he’d like to admit it, part of him was already beginning to mentally prepare for _marriage_ , so this - this was a surprise. A very pleasant one.

“And you’re absolutely sure?”

Harry rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t get too excited just yet. Not right now, just maybe soon is all I’m saying.”

Louis ducks his face into Harry’s neck, grinning wildly. “Oh, that’s all I need.”

*

Come the following week, Harry still has yet to hear from Abigail. Louis knows he’s upset, as he should be, though Harry barely lets onto the fact of just how much, even when Louis asks about it. He shrugs, forcing a fake yet sad smile, insisting that she’ll come around and then promptly changing the subject.

At church on Sunday, she doesn’t say hi, instead opting for a pew on the opposite side of the sanctuary. Harry keeps his mouth shut in a firm line, eyes persistently flitting from the back of her head to the pulpit where his dad preaches.

At the end of the service, while Harry has his back turned to talk with Lottie, Abi finally looks back at them. Her eyes lock with Louis’ for only a second before she’s turning away again. Louis knows the look of disgust all too well, and that wasn’t it. Confused, lost maybe - but by the way she’s been making his boyfriend miserable with her avoidance, Louis hardly feels motivated to go over and clear it up for her.

What Louis does not expect is for her to come breezing through the door at his work the following evening, heading straight towards him with purpose in her eyes. Louis blinks at her over the tap where he’s pouring a beer, and she says, “Can we talk?”

Louis glances around the bar, taking in the three patrons and their full glasses, all focused on the footie game playing on the screen above his head. “Em, I suppose I could take a quick break,” he says, placing the beer on the counter for the server to take. “Take a seat?”

She nods, heading towards one of the quiet, back tables near the window. He lets Sammy know, asking that she come save him if she spots murder in Abi’s eyes. Abi may be a tiny, small-town Christian girl, but he hardly doubts her ferocity. He’s seen flashes of himself in her eyes at times.

Louis sits down, uncertain as to what to say, and even more uncertain as to why she’s even here in the first place. Shouldn’t she be talking to Harry, not him?

“You look surprised,” she says.

“Well, I didn’t exactly expect you to come seeking me out before talking to Harry.”

Her eyes widen just barely before dropping to the tabletop, shoulders slouching underneath her t-shirt. “So, it is true,” she says eventually, quiet enough that Louis has to strain to hear over the bar music.

Louis frowns, confused. “You thought it wasn’t?”

Her eyes flick to his momentarily before dropping back down, her initial confidence seemingly dwindled. “No, I just - I guess a silly part of me hoped that he was just saying it. You know, to let me down easy or something.”

Louis tries not to let the stab hit him too hard, breathing in deep to lessen the sting over what was hopefully unintentional. “You’d rather that than him actually being gay?” he asks a bit harshly. He has to remind himself that this is Abi, Harry’s good friend. Unlike the older, cold patrons of the church, Louis has seen the genuinity of her character, the compassion. This is a young girl, brought up in a small, religious town with very little understanding of how the world works outside of it. He reminds himself of the look in her eyes as she glanced at him from across the church, lost and confused and hurt.

Abi hesitates, still avoiding his eyes but now glancing out the window. “Not exactly - no.” She shakes her head, sighing. “Okay, look, I came to you instead of Harry because we have no history. I wanted to try and - figure this out, without hurting Harry in the process. I didn’t know who else to talk this through with - not without telling his secret. Niall’s too easygoing to understand. He hasn’t had the same approach to our faith as me - and well, Harry have.”

“Okay.”

She looks to him, now forcing herself to hold his steady gaze. “It’s just that - it’s not that I’ve ever seen myself like, blatantly against homosexuality, because it’s not something I’ve ever really thought about. It didn’t affect me, so I’d take what I heard at church of it being a sin, and that was that. I never thought I’d have to deal with it directly. And now - I mean, it’s _Harry_. I didn’t think - I mean, how do I take something I’ve heard for so long, something I believed without thought, and not care? How do I just pretend everything is alright? That’s why I haven’t talked to Harry yet. I thought after a day or so it would suddenly all make sense, but if anything I’m more confused. I don’t know how I feel, but what I do know is that I don’t want to hurt Harry by saying these things to him until I’m certain.”

She keeps her eyes on Louis, so open and genuine, that all he can do is sigh sadly, feeling just as confused. Why he continuously ends up as some sort of mentor for a subject that he’s so entirely clueless about is beyond him. “Well,” he starts slowly, “when you think about it, how do you feel?”

“Hurt,” she says almost instantly. “I feel hurt.”

“Are you angry?”

“A little.”

“Are you disgusted?”

She hesitates, forehead folding but gaze not faltering. “No.”

Louis sends her the tiniest of smirks. “Are you just saying that because you’re talking to me?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I’m not. I thought I would be, but I’m not. How can I be? It’s still Harry. I just don’t understand how he’s gay, or how I’m possibly supposed to treat him the same now when it goes so against my beliefs.” She reconsiders, the wrinkles in her forehead growing deeper. “ _Our_ beliefs.”

“He’s the same person though,” Louis says. “He just…fancies blokes over girls.”

“He fancies _you_.”

“Well, yeah.” Louis shrugs his shoulders, suddenly feeling nervous under her attentive gaze. “Do you hate me?”

“No.” She exhales like she’s admitting defeat. “I want to, but no.”

“You already knew I was gay.”

“Yeah,” she frowns in consideration, “I suppose I did.”

“And you still tolerated my presence,” he points out. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that we were mates. Unless, of course, that was only from my end.”

“No, I consider you my mate.” She looks perplexed at this, thoughtful, like she’s pondering why the connection between Louis’ sexuality and their apparent friendship never had any implications before now. Stumped, she sighs again and says, “I guess I’m just confused because I always just thought it was a choice. I stupidly thought it was something that only affected people outside of the church, like once they were saved it would all go away, and it would be fairly easy - like not having sex before marriage. And now that it’s Harry - I mean, why would he choose that? It doesn’t make any sense. Not only because his dad’s the bloody reverend, but because I’ve always looked up to him and admired his faith. It seemed - seems so real, and if he didn’t choose this, then what does that mean? What’s a lie? The Bible or his faith?”

Louis opens his mouth, then shuts it, contemplating. “I - I don’t know,” he eventually finishes, eyebrows crumpled.

Harry has talked about God as much as he could to a boyfriend who really isn’t all that interested - or, at least, is incapable of understanding. Louis, too, admires his faith, though maybe in a different way than Abi. Louis likes the fact that Harry is strong enough to keep a faith that seems insistent on shunning such a huge and integral part of his life. As far as Louis knows, no understanding has yet been shed on the issue, but Harry presses along in his beliefs all the same. As someone who’s tried this himself and very much failed, Louis admires it in him. Though Louis might not have much sway behind his opinion, he believes that Harry’s faith is genuine. He’s seen him pray enough times, whether with a bowed head or murmuring underneath his breath. Louis watches the way he is in church, fixed and attentive, watches the way he sings with sparkling eyes. He even has a Bible app on his phone that Louis has actually _caught_ him reading. Louis would say he believes Harry’s faith over the Bible, but he realizes that’s a contradiction in itself. This inability to reconcile is exactly why Louis’ own faith barely stretches beyond a faint acknowledgement of a God. The unquestionable faith Harry seems to have is something that Louis feels like he will never be able to possess, and in some strange way, he almost envies it.

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” Louis says, drawing back to what he once told Harry. “If Harry hasn’t figured it out, then I sure as hell haven’t either. Though what I’ll tell you is that who he is, and what he believes, haven’t changed. There’s only so long you can go on lying to yourself, right? It’s not like it was easy for him to admit this, or accept it either. Neither did I turn him, if that’s what you were thinking - he was into blokes long before I came along.”

She laughs, just barely, underneath her breath. “While I admit the thought had vaguely run across my mind, I didn’t actually think you did.”

Louis breathes a sigh of relief. That’s three for three so far. Though he gets the feeling the general consensus on the matter will very quickly change as soon as it involves the reverend and the like.

“Do you love him?”

Louis blinks, taken aback by her sudden question, but then nods firmly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay, then.” Slowly she says, forcing her words out like they’re sharp stones, “Good.”

“He misses you. He wants to give you time, but yeah, I think he’s pretty hurt.” He flicks his gaze to the bar to make sure there’s no sudden line of angry patrons before looking back to her. If she was honest, he supposes he should be too. “I admit, I was getting a tad - jealous of you, and your relationship. We got in a fight about it, and that’s what spurred this entire thing on.”

“Jealous?” She raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” Louis shrugs, “you get on so well. You have a past with him that I don’t. You have the approval of his parents that I don’t, and most likely will never properly get.”

She nods, slow in understanding, a certain hint of sadness swimming in her honey eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says, sincere.

Louis shrugs again, feeling embarrassed over his vulnerability. “Just talk to him, yeah?” Louis insists, steering back to the original topic and away from any pity. “He’d want to hear this, your thoughts and questions. Maybe you can figure it out together. You’d probably be more of a help than I am on this subject.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right.”

He reaches across the table to bump his fist against hers, playful. “I always am.” He winks.

She laughs, full and real, and Louis thinks that it must count for something.

When they say their goodbyes, they even exchange a hug. His chest feels lighter as he returns to the bar, thankful he was able to smooth out at least part of the way for Harry and Abigail, despite his initial jealousy. He wonders if this is what growth looks like.

Near closing he gets a text from Harry that reads, _we’re all good now :)_

Louis replies with his own smiley face, but as he’s closing up, his mind wanders. Despite the minor hiccup with Abigail, so far the process of Harry’s coming out has been a decent one, which Louis is thankful for. He’s glad that Harry is able to experience some positivity, quite differently than how his own played out - practically forced out of the closet, only to be met with a harsh and cold world. When Louis thinks back on that time, he wishes with everything in him that the unforgiving face of Harry’s father isn’t the first thing that he sees.

The smiley face sits heavily in his pocket, and Louis hopes that they’re able to remember this feeling.


	5. lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your lovely comments thus far (even if i have to hunt them down in tumblr tags, i see you!), y'all are wonderful!
> 
> without further ado, i present to you chapter five (and with a title like "lust" what can you really expect?!)

 

Much to Louis’ dismay, Harry does not mention the possibility of sex again. Within a few weeks, the idea has already returned to some far off, mystical thing that may or may not happen in this lifetime. It helps that Harry is now very open to blowjobs - and lots of them - even trying it himself not once, but _twice_. Naturally, he was sloppy and uncoordinated in his inexperience, teeth sometimes accidently scraping, and always stopping long before Louis was close with watering eyes and an aching jaw.

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever had a better blowjob.

Louis’ not entirely sure why excessive blowjobs, handjobs, and rubbing dicks are okay, while actual sex is not, but he doesn’t press.

Now that it’s summer break, Louis’ house is almost never empty, the sound of his sisters giggling or footsteps padding across the wooden floor a persistent soundtrack to his household. Going to the Styles’ had been entirely Harry’s idea, and Louis was initially more than hesitant. Harry’s parents were just as guaranteed to be at work during the day as Louis’, though at Harry’s, there was always a risk involved that wasn’t a factor at Louis’. If Louis’ mum or sisters caught them in a compromising position, it would be embarrassing, yes, though hardly a cause for war. But knowing that opportunities to get each other off would be few and far between for the next two months otherwise, it didn’t take long for Louis to relent.

It’s a sweltering day in late July, the only mild relief coming from the soft breeze blowing in through Harry’s bedroom curtains. They’re both in their boxers, sticky skin pressed together and exchanging lazy, wet kisses when Harry pulls back to murmur, “I think I want to now.”

“Want to what?” Louis asks, brain trapped in a dizzy haze.

“Have sex.”

Louis stomach flips, the nerves underneath his skin burning hot and setting on fire. He pushes Harry onto his back by his shoulder, clambering on top him like an excited puppy. He even kisses all over his face, just for good measure. “Really?” He beams.

Harry laughs, expression a fascinating concoction of amused, scared, happy and embarrassed all at the same time. “Yes, really.”

“Right now?”

“Right now,” he confirms.

Louis kisses him into the pillow, so hard that he accidentally clips Harry’s lip with his tooth. He apologizes immediately, kissing it better, hands already moving to tug Harry’s boxers off his hips. Harry’s still giggling while he kicks them off the rest of the way, waiting as Louis does the same to his own.

Afterwards, Louis stares down at Harry’s naked body, his beautiful cock curved across his belly, and temporarily loses brain function. Louis’ lost count of how many times he’s seen Harry proper naked now, but yet every time still feels like it’s the first time, and the urge to devour his entire body never seems to dim any. For a moment, Louis even forgets what he’s supposed to do next.

Harry reminds him by tentatively asking, “Do I have to be - do I have to bottom?”

“What? Why? You don’t want to?”

He shakes his head, teeth scraping the skin off his bottom lip. “No, I just - it’s going to hurt. I don’t see - it’ll hurt too much. How will that feel good?”

“Trust me, it feels good,” Louis says insistently. “You’re going to love it, I promise.”

“Then why don’t _you_ want to?”

“Because you’ve never had your dick in anything before. Not only will you last a total of thirty seconds before you’re coming, you’ll also have no idea what you’re even aiming for, and as you’re proving right now, have no idea how it’s supposed to feel for me.” Louis lowers himself onto Harry, propping himself on one elbow as he cranes his neck to press a soft, reassuring kiss against his nearly bleeding lips. “Trust me, okay? It’ll be good for both of us this way, and after a few times I have no problem switching, alright?”

Harry sighs, still not appearing entirely convinced, but he slowly nods anyway. “Fine. Okay, let’s try. I just don’t see how you’re going to possibly fit in me without it feeling like I’m being ripped open.”

“Have you fingered yourself before?”

Harry shakes his head, cheeks instantly flushing into a deep red. “No,” he fumbles out quickly, “but those are fingers, anyway. They aren’t even near the same size.”

“Yeah, but then you’d know there’s something up there that makes it worthwhile,” Louis says. “Here, how about we just start with my fingers for awhile, and you tell me if you like it. If it hurts and you hate it that much, then you can fuck me, alright?”

Harry swallows and nods, reaching for Louis’ fingers and squeezing in gratitude.

“Wait,” Louis says, heart sinking as the realization hits, “I reckon you don’t have any lube or condoms?”

Harry’s eyes widen, hand slapping over his mouth. “I didn’t even think about that,” he mutters beneath his fingers. Not that Louis much imagined him to go to the pharmacy and buy it off little, old, straightlaced Ms. Connors anyway. Now that they’ve switched to Harry’s, Louis should’ve thought about bringing some over, just in case, no matter how presumptuous he would’ve looked. At least that way he wouldn’t be throwing his head against Harry’s shoulder and nearly crying out in disappointment. He was _so close_.

“Wait,” Louis says suddenly, springing off the bed to locate his trousers, remembering that he would often keep a couple packets of lube along with a condom in his wallet, though he can’t remember if he replenished since his last hookup. He breathes an initial sigh of relief when he sees a packet of each, but then feels the disappointment return as he squeezes the small pack of lube between his fingers. “I have lube, but I don’t think it’s enough for your first time to be completely comfortable,” he tells Harry. They blink back at each other, naked and helpless and still very hard. He considers running home and grabbing some, but then decides against it after realizing it wouldn’t give them very much time before Harry’s parents return home.

Louis sighs, slinking back towards the bed. “As much as it pains my dick to say this,” he says, crawling back over Harry, “how about we just focus on getting you used to it with my fingers, and then we can try for real tomorrow, when we’re more prepared. I reckon it might be better that way anyways, give you time to see what it’s all about and relax.”

“And you’re not crushed?”

Louis smiles, shrugging slightly. “What’s one more day?”

Harry laughs, smoothing his hands through his hair. “So selfless.”

“Yes, fingering you until you come is a hard and tedious job,” Louis murmurs sultrily into his lips, “but someone has to do it.”

“Geez,” Harry yelps, blush burning even redder than before.

Louis smirks, giving Harry a dirty kiss before he begins to slide down his body, lips and tongue dragging across his skin. Harry lets out a shaky breath, fingers curling into Louis’ hair as he begins to a suck a mark onto his hipbone.

Harry’s thighs are shaking before Louis even properly gets the lube onto his fingers. He presses a kiss to the inside of one, murmuring a soothing, “relax,” into his skin. He watches Harry as he pushes a finger inside. He makes a face, nose and forehead wrinkled together. He looks vaguely uncomfortable, though certainly not in pain, so Louis twists his finger in further while kissing his abdomen. Louis spends a few minutes warming him up to the feeling before he asks how he’s doing.

“Okay,” he admits. “It doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t feel great either. Just weird.”

“Just wait,” Louis promises, crooking his finger. “Ready for another?”

“I guess,” Harry says feebly. He’s still hard, though less than he was before, so Louis rectifies it by licking his tongue up the underside of his cock, sucking on the head. Harry’s moaning just as he pushes in a second finger, and then he falters, choked with a curse.

“How does it feel?” Louis asks, slowly pushing in further.

“Weirder, but not awful.”

Louis pets along his hip with his free hand. “You’re doing so good at relaxing for me, love.”

Harry hums vaguely in recognition.

Louis continues to lap his tongue around Harry’s cock while working his fingers in. Harry has his hands over his eyes, breathing heavily as he says, “Too much stimulation. I don’t even know what’s happening right now.”

Louis laughs around his dick, and Harry lets out a guttural whine.

It takes a few more twists of his fingers before Harry’s clenching around him, body jolting. “Fuck,” he cries out. “Was that it? Was that what you were talking about?”

Louis moves his mouth back to his stomach, nose against his belly button. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, pressing into the spot with more precision.

“Oh god, okay, that’s nice.”

“Just nice?” Louis questions with a smirk, thrusting his fingers in deeper.

“Shit, okay, great.”

Louis keeps his mouth off Harry’s cock in order to watch his face - the twitch of his muscles, the flutter of his eyelashes, the small whimpers escaping parted lips every time Louis hits his prostate. God, Louis is so hard.

He waits until Harry’s practically writhing before saying, “Okay, baby, I’m going to add another.”

Harry nods, like he’d be okay with anything right now. Harry whines, dissatisfied, when Louis pulls out to apply more lube and reposition his fingers. His mouth returns to Harry’s cock as he slowly begins to push back inside, Harry tenses almost immediately. He sucks in a breath, muscles resisting.

“Harry, you have to relax for me. Okay, baby?” Louis soothes, nipping at his inner thigh. “I know you can. You were doing so good. I promise it’ll be so good, you just have to relax. Remember what it felt like.”

Harry lets out a small noise in comprehension, and slowly but surely, Louis can feel him begin to relax around his fingers as he wriggles them in further. He’s so hot and tight around just his fingers that Louis can’t imagine what it would feel like for his cock to be inside him, and the mere thought of it nearly has his hips rutting against the mattress. He’s so hard, and his cock is aching for friction, but he needs to focus all of his attention on Harry, making sure he has the best possible experience.

“You’re so hot like this, you know,” Louis murmurs, partly for distraction and partly just because he needs Harry to know. “All spread out and open for me. You’re doing so well. I’m so hard right now, thinking about fucking you.”

“Lou,” he whines desperately, hands reaching for and tugging at his hair. When Louis reaches his prostate again, Harry all but convulses before his body falls slack with a loud moan. “Do it again,” he begs throatily, as if Louis wouldn’t.

Louis works his way up until he’s properly fucking Harry with his fingers. Harry remains vocal, whining like he can barely contain it, actually pushing back onto Louis’ fingers just the slightest. Louis can't help as his own hips begin to rut against the sheets.

“Hey, hey,” Louis says huskily, an idea dawning on him as his hips and fingers come to a stop. “Get onto your hands and knees.”

“What?” Harry’s eyes blink open, confusion swimming amongst the haze. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Louis insists, removing his fingers entirely.

Harry’s face crumples, displeased at the sudden emptiness. “Are we having sex now? I thought there wasn’t enough lube.”

“No, please, just trust me. It’ll be good.” Louis can’t even count the amount of times he’s told Harry to trust him, but seeing as he has yet to let him down, there’s no reason for him not to.

Harry stares down at him, hesitating in his uncertainty.

Louis pokes him. “Come on.”

Harry sighs in surrender and reluctantly begins to rearrange himself, seeming to reconsider with each movement. Once he’s settled on all fours, Louis has to physically resist diving forward and devouring him.

“Why am I doing this?” he whines to the wall. “I was enjoying that, and now I feel all weird and… _exposed_.”

“I happen to love it,” Louis says, licking at the dimples on his lower back.

“Louis,” he whines, and Louis can’t tell if it’s out of pleasure or resistance. He puts his hands on his arse, spreading his cheeks. “What are you doing? We’re not having sex right now, because I would like to - Jesus! _Louis!_ ” Harry yelps, pulling away and scuttling up the mattress in record speed. He flips around, back pressed against the wall while he stares at Louis so aghast and in such utter shock that it looks like he might need a respirator.

Louis can’t help it. He _laughs_. “What?” he asks innocently.

“What are you doing?!” he cries out, voice squeaking. “Was that your _tongue?!_ You don’t have to do _that!_ ”

“I want to.”

“How could you possibly _want_ to do that?!” he demands.

“I like it.” Louis shrugs simply, still smiling in amusement. “You’ll love it, and I like making you feel good.”

Harry eyes him suspiciously from the other end of the bed. “I didn’t even - I didn’t shower,” he says quietly, shock now turning into what looks like utter mortification.

“I don’t care.” Louis closes the space between them by crawling over, slow and cautious, in case Harry might try to kick him away.

“I don’t know…” he hesitates, still eyeing Louis wearily as if he might be a mutant that took over his boyfriend’s body. “It’s weird and uncomfortable.”

Louis walks his fingers up Harry’s thigh, and Harry stares down at them, tranced, as if just recalling what they were doing to him just minutes prior. “It feels great,” he insists, kissing the column of his throat, “and I swear I want to.”

“Lou,” he whines.

“Just think of it as you doing me a favour,” he teases.

Harry laughs breathlessly, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to,” Louis says, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I just know that if you loved my fingers that much, then you’ll love my tongue.”

Harry moans, knocking his head against Louis’ forehead. Louis keeps his eyes open, watching the flicker of Harry’s eyelashes. “Okay,” he eventually says, “though you get one minute to prove it to me.”

“Challenged accepted.” Louis beams.

It takes him thirty seconds. Harry hardly has a hand on himself for much longer before he comes, cursing into the pillow that he sinks into. Afterwards, he lies wrecked and boneless, entirely incoherent as Louis watches him, smiling in pride.

When Harry regains body function, he opens one eye to look up at Louis. “Okay,” he says, defeated, “you win.”

*

The next afternoon, Louis shows up at Harry’s with a newly purchased bottle of lube and box of condoms. It had earned him a glare from Ms. Connors, but it was well worth it.

Louis had barely slept the night before. How could he when the previous day’s events were so fresh in his mind, and the promise of today’s hardly lost on his imagination? It’s no secret that Louis has been waiting for this. It’s been awhile, but more than that, Harry’s handing over ultimate trust, allowing him to go places no one has before. Louis’ dying to show him how great it can be. Louis wants that connection, unmatched in anyone or anything else.

Harry seems just as eager, practically ripping off his own clothes as soon as Louis shuts the bedroom door behind him. Louis can tell that he’s still nervous from the shake in his hands and the waver in his voice, though it’s hardly a match for his excitement as he paws at Louis and ruts against his hips.

By the time he’s working Harry open with his fingers, Louis’ already painfully hard, precome leaking from the tip. He told Harry that he would be coming after thirty seconds if he were to fuck Louis, but Louis’ beginning to think he might not do much better.

Louis’ working his way to a third finger when he hears a car door slam outside. Harry doesn’t seem fazed, so Louis ignores it as well, figuring it’s the neighbors. But then he hears a noise downstairs, the sound of the front door opening and closing.

They both freeze, eyes wide as they stare at each other in panic. “Is that - ” Louis starts, but before he can finish, he hears Harry’s mother calling from the bottom of the stairs.

“Harry, honey, are you home?”

They curse in unison, both flying out of bed in record speed, scrambling to find their hastily discarded clothing.

Thankfully, they can hear her still rummaging around downstairs, but it does little to erase the fact that they’re going to have to emerge from Harry’s room sweaty and hard. Louis’ fingers are covered in lube, for Christ’s sake. He hopes Harry’s mum is blind in either denial or stupidity.

They squeeze themselves in front of the mirror, smoothing out their hair and tucking themselves into the waistband of their boxers, but little can be done about their swollen mouths and heated cheeks when they hear footsteps coming up the staircase. They have just enough time to exchange panicked looks before there’s a knock on the door and a turning of the knob.

“Har- ” She stops instantly, startled by his and Harry’s immediate appearance. They both blink innocently back at her from where they stand side by side, feet together and hands clasped behind their backs like prison inmates awaiting an inspection. “Oh,” she says, with a hand across her chest, “you startled me. Sorry for barging in, I thought you might’ve still been sleeping, Harry.”

Nope, just trying to have sex.

“Nope, just hanging out,” Harry says instead. Just as well. “We were, uh, just about to head to the lake. To meet up with Niall. And Abigail. Thought we’d go for a dip. With them. In the lake.”

Louis forces the smile on his face, nodding along, resisting the urge to kick Harry in the shins and hiss, “Be cool.”

Harry’s mum looks between them with a weird expression, though Louis can’t quite tell if it’s suspicion. “Alright, very well. Have fun then.”

“Oh, we will,” Harry all but squeaks, scurrying past her. Louis gives her the sweetest smile he can manage and something of a pathetic wave, following close behind.

“Oh, Harry,” she calls after them, causing them to freeze at the doorway.

Harry looks to her, and if their appearance or actions hadn’t already alluded to suspicious activities, then the incriminating expression on Harry’s face surely gives it away. “Hmm?”

She hesitates, like she might not actually speak whatever was on her mind, but then reconsiders and says, “Your shirt’s inside out.”

*

Due to work and then a pesky little thing called the weekend, Attempt Three doesn’t happen until four days later. In which time Louis thinks he might actually die. He reckons seeing as little of each other as possible during those days might’ve been smart - especially with Harry just as eager and antsy as him. Louis’ sure they both considered fucking in the pub’s toilets at least once.

They managed to resist though, returning them to Harry’s bed first thing on Monday.

“Here’s to praying my mum has no more unexpected migraines,” Harry says.

Louis would ask him if he actually _did_ pray for such a thing if he weren’t more concerned with kissing him - and, well, getting inside of him. The door is locked and the window is wide open should she come home early again, though in that instance, Louis suspects the probability of him throwing a tantrum is exceptionally high.

Harry takes well to his fingers, and Louis takes the necessary time, and then some, to open him up. Before putting on a condom, Louis crawls up his body to press a long and tender kiss on his lips, hands in his hair. “You feel good? Ready? Positive you want to do this?”

“Yes, I’m positive I want to have sex with you, though,” he hesitates, “I’m still nervous about having you inside of me.”

“Well, hate to break it to you, babe, but that is how sex happens,” Louis replies cheekily.

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Louis reassures, kissing the side of his nose, “and it’ll be great. I’ll go slow and I’ll be so careful, okay? There’s no need to worry, you just have to relax.”

Harry breathes out like he’s giving way to a contraction. “Okay, okay, I’m relaxed.”

Louis eyes him, seeing little evidence of relaxation as he grabs for the condom sitting next to Harry’s head.

“I thought we didn’t need a condom,” Harry says.

“We don’t,” Louis responds, ripping the packet open. A few weeks prior they had a brief yet slightly tense conversation about the number of Louis’ sex partners. (Eight. Which really isn’t a whole lot, despite what Harry seems to think. That’s like, fewer than two a year since Ben. He’s had friends who’ve slept with more people in a _month_ ). Louis’ a responsible guy - he’d already been tested since the last bloke he slept with, just like he did after every relationship and hook-up, but to ease Harry’s mind, he had volunteered to go again. Louis very nearly went to a walk-in in the next town just to avoid his family doctor, though in the end, Louis bit the bullet. At least he knew there would be no awkward ‘you have chlamydia’ exchanges.

Harry’s looking at him curiously, so Louis explains by saying, “Having someone come inside of you is a - _unique_ experience. Not everyone likes it. It’s better to just focus on the feeling of a dick inside of you your first time, yeah?”

Harry blushes, then nods, easily accepting Louis’ advice. Louis’ would _really_ like to come inside of him.

Louis has to put every last bit of effort into concentrating on rolling the condom on. He rearranges himself over top of Harry, keeping a steady gaze as they both contribute to hooking Harry’s legs around his hips.

Harry’s still taking deep breaths from his mouth, though Louis can tell they’re wavering.

“Hey,” Louis says softly. Despite the fact that Harry’s blown-out eyes are stuck on Louis’, he feels like he still needs to physically pull Harry from his thoughts to focus on him instead. “Just relax, okay? Focus on me. I’ve got you, yeah?”

Harry nods, the corners of his mouth twisting slightly. “Okay,” he breathes out.

Louis kisses him, hoping the intensity of it will distract him as he aligns his cock against Harry and begins to push inside. Already, his breath is lost by how wonderfully tight and warm and fantastic Harry feels, even just over the tip, and -

“Oh god, Louis,” Harry yelps, hips instinctively pulling back from him.

“Shh, baby, just relax,” Louis murmurs, petting his hair soothingly. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, and nods just barely. All Louis needs is just another few seconds and he can show Harry just how _great_ it is. He pushes in a bit more, somehow even slower, and Harry shakes his head, panicked.

“No, Louis, stop. Please, stop,” he pleads desperately.

“Harry - ”

“Louis, please, pull out.” His eyes are wet, hands already on Louis’ hips as if trying to pull himself off his cock.

Louis sighs as he pulls out. He stays hovered over Harry who has his eyes shut, purposely avoiding his gaze. “Harry,” he starts as soothingly and understandingly as he can. He`s fucked virgins before, and never has this happened. “Baby, I know it hurts a little at first, but you have to trust me, if you relax it gets better really quickly.”

He shakes his head, eyes still refusing to open. “I can’t.”

Louis rolls off Harry and onto his back, pulling the condom off and throwing it on the floor. Harry still has his eyes closed, so Louis allows the disappointment to wash over him. He even curses the ceiling silently. Clearly, Harry is not ready, and Louis’ not going to be the boyfriend who coerces him into something he doesn’t want to do.

Once he’s given himself a moment for a silent tantrum, he turns back to Harry and kisses his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re just not ready.”

“It’s not that I’m not ready,” he snaps instantly, “it just fucking _hurt_ , okay?”

Louis bites back a comment on Harry’s apparent low pain threshold figuring that won’t help any. Sure, Louis’ a little thicker than average, but he’s hardly huge. Ben was bigger than him, and Louis’ arse didn’t get even half the preparation that Harry’s did. You make a move on your fit, older drama teacher after hours, and there’s no time to be sharing minor details of your virginity before he’s fucking you against the wall. The first few minutes hurt, but he was _fine_. Though, he figures this tidbit of information won’t help much either.

“I told you I didn’t want to be bottom,” Harry mumbles bitterly.

“Fine, do you really want to fuck me?” Louis relents. “Are you seriously, _truly_ ready for this though?”

Harry nods, adamant and without hesitation. “Yes.”

Louis sighs in surrender. He came into today expecting sex, and dammit, Harry willing, he’s going to get it this time. “Okay, sit up with your back against the wall,” Louis orders. “You might want to put a pillow up.”

Harry obliges instantly, scrambling up to grab a pillow and do as Louis asked. He watches intently as Louis spreads some lube onto his fingers, and then uses his other hand to steady himself on Harry’s shoulder. He’s frowning, confused, until Louis reaches behind himself and pushes his fingers inside.

Harry stares at him as if he just came across a mystical unicorn. All heavy breathed and bug-eyed, but in a very different way than how he was just minutes earlier. “C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging on Louis’ elbow. Louis leans forward, falling easily into his kiss, fingers faltering for only a moment. He should probably spend longer opening himself up, as it’s been awhile, but he’s so far past impatient that a little burn could easily be tolerated.

Harry’s cock is red and leaking against his stomach, and Louis hopes that he’s underestimating how long he’ll last, but he kind of really doubts it.

Once the condom’s on, Louis arranges himself on Harry’s lap, hovering over his cock. “You ready?”

Harry nods, sending him a goofy smile. “I swear I’ll try to last longer than thirty seconds.”

Louis gives a throaty laugh, nodding in acknowledgement before knocking his mouth against Harry’s in a sloppy kiss. He guides himself down onto Harry, instantly feeling the stretch of his cock and light burn of his strained muscles. It feels _fantastic_.

They moan simultaneously, the back of Harry’s head smacking against the wall. “Oh my - _fuck_ , Louis,” he curses, fingernails digging deep into his hips.

Louis nods, dazed, lowering himself further onto Harry’s cock. Now, Harry is huge. If Louis was endowed with the same length, he’d understand Harry’s aversion to getting fucked a whole lot better. Yet despite the fact that it’s been well over six months since Louis was last proper fucked himself, he loves the stretch and the burn, wants every last inch of it inside of him until he feels like he can’t be filled any further. Louis might be a tad of a size queen on his best of days, and Harry’s is the kind of cock that dreams are made of.

“Shit - you feel so - God, I love you so much,” Harry blabbers.

Louis chuckles breathlessly against his mouth before dipping his head into Harry’s neck, lips nipping mindlessly at his pinkened skin. Harry’s almost all the way inside of him now, and Louis feels like he could almost explode in the best way possible.

Once he can’t possibly fill himself anymore, he takes a moment to savour the feeling, the utter fullness inside him, the pulse and warmth of Harry’s cock. Harry’s been letting out a continuous string of curses since they started, yelps strangled in his heavy breaths.

Louis manages to roll his hips exactly twice before Harry lets out a monstrous moan and comes.

They freeze against each other, the immediacy of it shocking Louis despite his expectations. He supposes the other side of him had hoped that all the blowjobs Harry was receiving would add a few extra minutes onto his stamina.

Louis keeps his forehead pressed to Harry’s shoulder, feeling Harry’s laboured breaths in his hair. They both sit wordlessly, Harry’s cock still limp inside of Louis. Louis’ the first to break the silence by chuckling, until he’s full on convulsing in laughter against Harry’s chest.

Harry begins to laugh too, and then they’re both hysterically giggling, rumbling chests rubbing against each other. “I lasted longer than thirty seconds?” Harry offers, more hopeful than certain.

Louis laughs harder. “ _Forty-five_ seconds.”

“Still longer than thirty.”

Louis pulls his face from Harry’s neck, knocking his nose against his cheek and smiling. “You absolute _shit_.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry pouts. “I tried. I really did. You just felt so - shit. How do people _do_ that?”

“With practice,” Louis answers before holding onto the base of Harry’s dick as he slowly pulls off. He can’t help but whine in the process, the empty feeling instantaneous. “If it’s any consolation, your cock feels amazing. I reckon it’ll be especially nice once it’s in there for longer.” After pulling the condom off Harry and tossing it to the ground, Louis takes a proper look at him. He’s biting back one of his adorably embarrassed and goofy grins.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.” Louis nods, repositioning himself on Harry’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

“I’m really sorry I’m so awful at this.”

Louis laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re not, you’re learning.”

“Next time you can do me, I promise,” Harry swears. “I’ll suck it up.”

“All right.”

Sliding his palms flat against Louis’ back, Harry tips him backwards until he’s against the mattress, instantly clamboring on top of him. He takes Louis’ wrists between his monster hands, pinning them above his head as he attacks his face with wet kisses while Louis giggles. “That was amazing,” he murmurs hotly into his ear. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

“Likewise, soldier.” Louis winks.

Harry looks between them, almost surprised, like he had forgotten he was the only party to come. “I’m going to give you a blowjob now,” he says determinedly, “and I am going to until you come and I’m _not_ going to gag.”

“Alright, babe,” Louis says absentmindedly, still laughing.

He gags only twice.

*

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Louis, please,” Harry begs with a full on _whine_ \- there might even be a stomp of his foot. “My mum invited you. She really wants to get to know you. _I_ want you to get to know her, and my dad. I think if you and my dad just properly got to talk that it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you’d understand each other better.”

Louis scoffs, shaking his head, ignoring Harry’s flinch. He backs away to lean against the brick wall, the alley outside of his work deserted except for them and the persistently buzzing flies. “That will _never_ happen.”

“Louis,” is all he says, hurt.

“I don’t think you fully grasp our history, Harold. So, let me remind you,” Louis says with folded arms, “he wanted to send me to conversion therapy to like, brainwash and torture me with Bible verses to make me straight, okay? And with the church’s money, that.”

“That was years ago,” Harry attempts, even though he knows just as well as Louis that it does little to change the implications.

Louis shakes his head more adamantly this time. “I’m happy to get to know your mum, possibly over tea, but I’m not sitting down to dinner with your father. Sorry, I love you, but that’s not happening.” Louis’ getting anxiety just thinking of it. Pretending to make small talk over mushed peas while the reverend stares down at him in disgust is one of the last things he’d ever want to do - right along with burying himself alive. Church on Sunday is one thing - the reverend refuses even to _acknowledge_ his presence there. His eyes go straight through Louis as if he were made up of nothing more than smoke and bad choices. Sitting at his dinner table, in his house, is a different story. It’s much harder to play indifferent when Louis’ sitting directly across from him, eating off one of his plates, no watchful gazes of the congregation all around them.

“Does your dad even know about this?”

“Yes,” Harry says, far too quick and clipped.

“Don’t lie.”

Harry sighs, sliding his fingers through his curls. He slides beside Louis, close but not touching. “He knows, I swear, and he’s fine with it.”

Louis turns to look at him, eyebrow raised, searching for the truth in his unwavering expression. “I highly doubt that.”

“He is,” Harry insists. “Like I said, it’s all in the past. I’m sure he just wants to move past it. He sees that you’re my friend now.”

“Friend.” Louis snorts. “A friend who’s had your dick in his arse.”

Harry stares at him pointedly.

“It’s not going to be good,” Louis says insistently.

“Then prove me wrong,” Harry challenges.

Louis shakes his head once again, but he can’t help but smile over the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He often forgets who Harry’s dad is, ignoring the unfortunate connection that sits heavy in his subconscious. It’s easy enough to do it, only faced with it when he sees Harry briefly exchanging words with his father after church, or in the pictures that line Harry’s staircase. If Louis goes to dinner at his house, he’ll have no choice but to fully and completely accept it. He’s not ready for those two worlds to come crashing harshly together. He’ll _never_ be ready for it.

Harry’s blinking at him pleadingly, bottom lip turned down. He turns onto his side to face Louis properly, tucking his chin onto his shoulder. It’s innocent enough, but Louis expects the intimacy between them would be blatant to any casual passerby. Fortunately, not many people venture out into the back alley. “Please Lou, I wouldn’t be asking if it didn’t mean a lot to me.”

Louis hesitates, eyes flicking over Harry’s puppydog eyes before sighing. “This is a bad idea.”

“Trust me,” Harry says, even though it has absolutely nothing to do with trusting him, and everything to do with not trusting his _father_.

Louis squeezes his nails into his palm until his knuckles turn white, and says, “Okay.”

Harry throws his arms around Louis’ neck, and kisses him out in broad daylight. “Thanks, boo. It’ll be okay, I swear.”

Louis nods, humming in acknowledgement, and wishes he could believe him.

*

The dinner table is silent.

Harry sits across from him, and they’ve been trying to keep their glances casual, even while Louis silently pleads that he _save him_. He might actually curse Harry at one point for dragging him into this whole mess in the first place. Harry had an unfair advantage - with his puppydog eyes and beautiful cock and all. Louis didn’t stand a chance. How dare Harry use that against him? He’s _supposed_ to love him.

Harry’s dad has said exactly one thing to Louis since arriving, and that was a grunted _hi_ , followed by a long, scathing look. Louis had forced back a sneer and instead given the sweetest of smiles. Reconciling the man that makes his blood curl and gut clench with his boyfriend’s father, who he should be impressing, is one of the most confusing and painful things he’s ever had to endure.

“So, um,” Harry starts, twirling his spaghetti in his fork, “did you know Louis was in a commercial?”

“Oh wow, I didn’t. That’s wonderful, darling,” Anne says, grinning sincerely.

Louis waves her off modestly, blushing. “Oh, it wasn’t anything really. Just a dog food commercial, you know? It only aired for a bit.”

“That’s still just as great,” she insists. “No need to devalue it.”

Louis’ halfway through thanking her when the reverend speaks up from the other end of the table. “So, what else have you been doing in London then, Louis?” It’s no surprise to Louis that he’s the only one left still calling him _Lewis_.

“I - um. Well.” _Fucking blokes all over town and dancing naked in the pride parade while sacrificing babies for satanic rituals on the side,_ is what he wants to say, but Harry is staring at him so hopefully from across the table, that all Louis can do is plaster on another smile that’s so fake, even a blind man could tell. “I was working at a pub while doing acting jobs on the side. I was in a couple of plays, and did a few other commercials. A few amateur films, and such.” The reverend raises an eyebrow while Harry nearly chokes on his food, and Louis realizes _amateur_ sounds a lot like _porn_ , so quickly corrects himself by saying, “Like, students. Student films, or just out of. You know, the ones that play in those small, artsy cinemas.”

“Hm,” he mutters disapprovingly before going back to his dinner. That one sound is enough to leave Louis momentarily questioning all of his life choices - and he hates this man. Harry going into law suddenly makes so much more sense.

When he glances at Harry, he’s staring down at his plate, fork dragging through his food.

“I remember seeing the production of _Grease_ with Harry,” Anne says after a beat, smiling wide enough to compensate for what her husband lacks. “We both thought you were brilliant at playing Danny.” She looks at Harry, thoughtful. “Actually, we saw quite a few of your plays. You were always very good. A true, natural talent.”

Louis raises a pleased eyebrow at Harry, lips cracking into a smirk when Harry’s cheeks flourish with colour.

Harry takes a short sip of water before waving him off coolly. “For the record, I never said such a thing.”

Anne snorts. “Nice try,” she says dryly. “Who do you think was dragging me to all of these shows? Certainly not Gemma.”

Louis stifles a giggle while Harry gapes at her in shock. Harry had already admitted to seeing all of his drama productions, yet there’s something so much more satisfying when hearing it confirmed by his own mother. “Oh, Harold, my biggest fan,” Louis teases. “You know if you had only asked for an autograph I would’ve been glad to.”

Harry scowls, but its effect is lost as he attempts to stop one of his contagious, dorky grins from taking over his entire face. “I hate you both.”

“Nah,” Louis says just as the reverend clears his throat. It’s a pin to their bubble, causing Louis to come crashing back into reality. For a moment, Louis had nearly forgotten about his presence. Their easy teasing felt natural, like Louis was merely over at his boyfriend’s house for dinner and there was no hiding - Anne knowingly teasing her son on his long-lasting crush on Louis. While annoyed at the reverend, Louis’ thankful for the rude awakening to his reverie, not knowing what he might’ve accidentally let show while his guard was down.

All three of them fall silent, smiles faded.

“So, Louis, are you planning on staying in Holmes Chapel long term?” the reverend asks.

“No,” Louis says quickly, forcing back a scoff. “I’m just paying off student debt. I’m hoping it will be all cleared by fall.” He takes a bite of his pasta, and avoids looking at Harry. Of course, Harry had already known that Louis was returning to London as soon as he paid the money back, but it was not something they had properly discussed. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge what that might mean for their relationship.

“Yes,” he says with a mocking smile, “I can’t imagine these amateur films pay nearly enough to keep up with the _lifestyle_ in London.”

Louis sucks in a breath, clenching his fist underneath the table. He had hoped, foolishly, they could make it through the dinner without any remarks on his sinful _lifestyle choices._

“It gets me by just fine,” Louis lies. “It just does little to help pay off my loans. You have to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” he mumbles once again, and goes to take another bite of his dinner.

The tension is thick enough to drown in, the entire room submerged. It’s so quiet that Louis can count every beat of his heart, and the stunted breathing of Harry and his mum. For one fleeting moment, Louis thinks that the reverend might actually be done when he speaks again.

“Have you been enjoying being back?”

“Yes,” he says, and can’t help but glance briefly at Harry. It’s not a total lie.

“And you’ve been going to church?”

“Yes,” he says, biting back the bit of, _and I sit with your son every single week, you dick._

He _hms_ again, fork clinking against his plate. There’s an air of nonchalance on his face that Louis can see straight through. Louis can feel the intent behind his words before he even speaks them. “And have you found the Lord yet?”

Louis can hear the sharp inhale of breath from both Harry and Anne as his gut fills with heat, anger spreading throughout his body like wildfire.

“ _Dad,_ ” Harry cries out with a tightened jaw.

“What?” he shrugs Harry off. “It’s just a question.”

“That’s not a question you just ask people over dinner.”

“I’m a reverend, that’s what I do.”

Harry looks to Louis, a certain desperation in his eyes. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says.

Louis’ lost on what to say. On one hand he has his boyfriend, so helplessly wanting the drama to be resolved, not rehashed, and on the other hand, Louis has his dignity, his pride. As much as Louis would like to hold onto some of Harry’s blind hope, he knows that even if he were to gain some sort of solid footing with the reverend it would be through lies. That the facade would come crashing down in an even harsher, more violent manner as soon as he found out that Louis wasn’t just Harry’s friend. He can only hope that Harry will understand.

“If by ‘finding the Lord’ you mean becoming straight,” Louis says, looking the reverend square in the eye, “then no, I haven’t.”

His mouth twists together, breaking the gaze before Louis. “That’s too bad,” he mutters into his plate.

“Not really at all, actually,” Louis responds without blinking. “I’m quite happy.”

“Yes, for now, maybe,” the reverend says briskly. “Sin has a way of blinding you from its destruction until it’s too late.”

“Dad,” Harry interrupts at once, face burning brighter than Louis has ever seen, “that’s _enough_.”

The reverend fixes his gaze to Harry, disdain quickly bleeding into disappointment. “It’s not, and if you cared at all for your _friend_ and spreading the gospel, then you would have already been telling him this instead of running around town like there’s nothing wrong with the way he chooses to live.”

“And what if there isn’t,” Harry counters at once, eyes flashing with ferocity.

The skin underneath the reverend’s collar flares with heat. “I’ve had enough of you disregarding God and what He makes clear in His Word. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Harry, but it’s over now. You’re not to hang out with Louis any more.”

“I’m eighteen years old!” he explodes disbelievingly. “You can’t bloody tell me who I can or cannot hang out with.”

The reverend blinks calmly up at him. “While you’re living under my house I can,” he says. “It’s for your own good. I can see what spending time with him is doing to you, and now you’re questioning God’s Word. It’s only a matter of time before -”

“Before what?” Harry snaps, all but snarling. Louis stares helplessly between them. “Before what, dad? Before I turn into a _homosexual?_ ” Louis thinks he might actually out himself in fury, but then he’s standing at once, shaking his head while he turns towards the door. “I need to get out of here.”

“Harry…” Anne says, sounding just as powerless as Louis feels.

Harry’s halfway out the kitchen when Louis snaps out of his daze, scrambling up after him. He manages enough mindfulness to thank Anne for the meal and apologize. He feels the brief touch of her hand against his back as he chases after Harry.

Harry already has his shoes on by the time he makes it to the front door. He can hear the clinking of a fork against ceramic coming from the kitchen. He can picture Harry’s dad continuing to eat like nothing had happened at all.

“Harry,” Louis says, “just hold on one second, would you?”

Harry ignores him, the skin from his forehead down to his collar so red it’s nearly purple. Louis shoves his feet into his Vans as Harry pushes the door open and storms outside into the warm, evening air.

Harry’s legs are like, _triple_ the length of Louis’, so he manages to keep a whole five feet ahead of him as he breezes down the street, arms straight like arrows against his side. No matter how many times Louis calls after him to slow down, he doesn’t falter.

Harry turns into a park, heading straight towards the empty play structure and climbing to the top near the slide. He looks ridiculous doing so, all lanky limbs and a long torso as he bends himself between the bars, pulling his legs into his chest as he sits down. Louis crawls in beside him hesitantly, not sure what to expect. The fit is much more cozy for him.

“Harry, love,” Louis says as softly as possible, afraid any loud or sudden movements might break him. He wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling Harry into his chest.

Harry sinks into him at once, face in his sweater, and begins to cry.

“Shh,” Louis hums soothingly, stroking his fingers through his hair as Harry wracks with sobs.

“I can’t -” he eventually says between hiccups, face still buried in Louis’ chest. “I can’t _believe_ him.”

Having no idea what to say, Louis keeps stroking his hair.

Harry pulls his face far enough out of Louis’ chest for Louis to see his red eyes and splotchy skin, face wet with tears and snot. Louis aches. “I had hoped - I had stupidly hoped it wasn’t actually like that. God,” he cries out, diving back into Louis. “So fucking stupid and naive of me. Of course he’s like that. Of course. I already knew that.”

“Shh,” Louis hums again. “Just try and take a deep breath.”

Harry seemingly obliges, but Louis has a feeling it does little more than get snot all over his sweater.

Louis lets him cry for a bit longer, until his full body sobs have faded into soft whimpers. Louis kisses the top of his head, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

He thinks he can feel Harry nod, just barely against him, nose pressed into the cleft of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeats, because what he really wants to say is _it’s okay_ , but he just can’t.

*

Unsurprisingly, Harry doesn’t follow his father’s order to stop hanging out with Louis. Louis doesn’t think he even _tries_ to hide it. Louis asks about it, but Harry never says much besides that he and his dad aren’t really speaking. Louis shudders at the thought of how tense the dinner table must be.

Understandably, the sex they’re supposed to be having is put on the backburner. Harry spends the next two weeks at Louis’ house, playing with his younger sisters and watching telly with his parents and Lottie. Occasionally, they’ll snog in his bedroom, but it never goes further than that.

One of the last weekends of August, Harry’s parents leave town for a pastoral retreat. When Harry first told him, he was straddled on top of Louis, grinning mischievously against his lips. “You know what that means,” he said before sucking his tongue into his mouth. Louis certainly had an idea.

Louis shows up with a duffle bag of minimal clothing, a new bottle of lube and box of condoms just in case, and a bottle of wine. It had taken him ten minutes of humming and hawing before deciding against the box of chocolate covered strawberries.

Louis’ barely even inside the front door before Harry takes the bottle from his hand, setting it on the table, and begins to kiss him heatedly, already pushing his shirt up his stomach. “Hey, hey,” Louis manages to get out, Harry hardly faltering, “slow down, yeah? We literally have all weekend.”

“Yeah, but the sooner we start, the more sex we can have.” The man has a point.

Louis laughs, forcing himself away from Harry’s tight hold. “Can I just get settled first? We can have some wine, chat a bit, maybe listen to some music, get you relaxed.”

Harry stares at him, unblinking. "It's ten in the morning."

Louis pokes his stomach, and Harry jumps away with a yelp, face cracking into a grin. “Yes, but remember you telling me that I get to do you next?”

“Yes…”

“So, wine will help you to relax,” Louis says. “Plus, now with all this time, we’re free to do all that important foreplay stuff. Get you all hot and bothered so you’re begging for it.” He grins cheekily, reaching for Harry’s hips to pull him back into him. He nips at Harry’s jaw while he rolls his eyes.

“I already am.”

“No, you’re not. Guarantee if we took our trousers off right now so I could fuck you, you’d freak out again.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him, though he doesn’t argue.

In the end, Louis wins, of course, and they settle in Harry’s room with the bottle of wine and two glasses. Harry wanted them to strip down to their boxers, but Louis refused, telling him the removal of clothes was all part of the process. Harry rolled his eyes, but seemingly accepted this fact.

They both finish two glasses of wine before Harry crawls onto Louis’ lap and kisses along his neck. “Mm’k,” he murmurs, “‘m relaxed now.”

Louis laughs, slipping his hand along Harry’s neck to guide his mouth against his for a tender kiss. No matter how many times Harry attempts to speed up the process by trying to suck Louis’ tongue into his mouth or rollling his hips, Louis is determined to keep the pace, keeping every kiss thought-out and unhurried. Eventually Harry surrenders, and gives way to Louis’ lead.

Louis’ the first to pull off Harry’s shirt, and they undress each other slowly between kisses. Once all of their clothes have been discarded, Louis flips them over until Harry is on his back. Louis kisses every last spot on Harry’s chest and stomach, down to his thighs and all the way to his knees.

Harry giggles, moving his legs to squeeze Louis’ head between. “You nut.”

Louis turns his head, biting at the inside of his knee. Harry laughs harder, dropping his legs and letting Louis out of the lock.

When Louis crawls back up his body to kiss him on the lips, Harry circles his arms around his neck. He smiles, eyes soft and content, looking at Louis in a way he’s never been looked at before. Louis’ skin heats, electricity prickling inside his veins. “How did I ever get so lucky?” Harry muses.

“I wonder the same thing myself.”

Harry smiles wider, tucking a strand of Louis’ hair behind his ear. He cranes his neck for a kiss and murmurs, “Love you so much.”

“I love you lots too. I’m happy I found you.”

“Found each other,” Harry corrects.

Louis laughs, kissing him until they’re breathless. When he goes back down Harry’s body to prep him, he takes his time once again, sucking on each one of his four nipples until Harry is writhing. God, Louis loves every single one of those nipples just as much as the other. His little freak.

While stretching Harry open, Louis alternates between sucking marks into his thigh and sucking his cock. When his fingers press against Harry’s prostate, he tastes precome on his tongue.

“Louis,” he whines out desperately, tugging at his hair, “please, okay, here I am begging for it.”

“Begging for what?” Louis smirks against his thigh. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s removing all but one finger, and burying his face between Harry’s spread legs, pressing his tongue in alongside his finger.

“Oh, shit, Louis. _Fuck,_ ” he curses, tugging harder at Louis’ hair. Louis’ so turned on that he can barely even feel it. “For your cock. I want you to fuck me now.”

Louis growls from the back of his throat, spending a moment longer to fuck his finger and tongue into Harry simultaneously.

“Lou, stop,” he whimpers. “Holy shit. I’m going to come if you don’t.”

Louis removes them both with a smile, dropping Harry’s thigh from his shoulder. When he crawls up to kiss him wetly, Harry pulls away, making a face. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to the taste of my own arse.”

Louis laughs, kissing him anyway. “Mmm, I love the taste of your arse. Especially when it’s all fresh and clean down there.”

Harry blushes, batting at his shoulder. “Oh god, please shut up. You’re killing the mood.”

“Not my mood,” he murmurs against his mouth.

Harry insists on putting the condom and lube on for him. He’s noticeably less nervous, if at all, and Louis congratulates himself for a job well done. Once he has Harry’s legs around his middle and arms around his neck, Louis knocks their noses together, pecking him softly. “You ready?”

Harry nods, swallowing. “Mm-hmm.”

“Nervous?”

“A little, but considerably less.”

“Relaxed?”

Harry smiles. “Yes.”

“Do you need more wine?”

“Louis,” he growls, jerking him closer with his legs, “I’m fine. Just _do it._ ”

Louis laughs breathlessly, not putting up any more of a fight as he takes ahold of his cock and guides himself into Harry. Harry lets out a soft yelp once his tip’s in, and Louis has to pet his hands through his hair, reminding him, “Just breathe. Focus on me.” Harry keeps his eyes closed, and Louis has to pinch his shoulder until he blinks them open. “Look at me. You need to see that it’s just me.”

Harry nods, breathing out through his mouth, keeping his eyes fixed on Louis’.

Louis pushes in a bit further, Harry’s fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his neck. His eyes slip shut for a second before he forces them back open. Louis can still feel the resistance in his muscles, but there’s less than before, at least.

Louis pauses to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Keep going,” is what he says instead, voice raw and scratchy.

Once Louis’ in all the way, he has to push back the overwhelming sensation trickling all across his body and clouding his brain to say, “Okay, I’m all the way in now. Is it as bad as you thought?”

Harry’s still wincing as he says, “It’s pretty bad, but I’m alive, so that’s something.”

“Okay, I’m going to start to move now. It’ll get so much better soon, I promise.”

Harry nods in allowance while Louis cranes his neck down to kiss him. He licks into Harry’s mouth, and he opens up easy, seeming apt to use it as a distraction as Louis’ begins to roll his hips. He can’t help but gasp, the feeling of Harry around him absolutely sensational.

“Louis,” he whines, and it’s not out of pleasure.

“Baby, it’s okay. You’re doing so well. Just stay relaxed for me.”

Harry’s stopped trying to kiss him now, so Louis licks along his lip as he continues to roll his hips in shallow circles, getting Harry used to the feeling of his cock. All the while, Louis is biting back his moans, not wanting Harry to realize how much he’s enjoying it until Harry is as well.

Finally, _finally,_ Harry jerks against him, eyes drawing open. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah?”

Harry smiles, just barely. “Yeah. Feels a bit better. You can try moving more.”

Louis pulls far enough back to readjust his hips, pushing back in at a slightly different angle. Within three thrusts, Harry’s moaning against his mouth. “ _Yes,_ ” he breathes out. “Thank you.”

Laughing, Louis presses as far as he can into that spot, feeling Harry’s cock twitch against his stomach. “My fingers can’t get that far, can they?”

Harry groans. “I feel like your cock is going to come out of my ear.” Louis laughs harder this time, and thrusts in again, causing Harry to let out a jolted curse. “Okay, okay, this feels good,” he says in what sounds like defeat. Though very _pleased_ defeat. “I don’t think it hurts anymore.”

With this knowledge, Louis releases what was left of his inhibitions, fingers pressing into Harry’s hips as he works up a rhythm. With the humidity creeping in through the open window, Louis is already slick with sweat, Harry’s curls dampened wildly against his cheeks. Christ, if his boyfriend is not the fittest bloke. Getting fucked suits him so well. Getting fucked by _Louis_ suits him even better.

Louis cranes his neck down to knock his mouth against Harry’s in attempt to exchange a few sloppy kisses before they both give up. Louis doesn’t pull back though, their mouths remaining close, soft moans meeting in the charged air between.

Harry seems to instinctively roll his hips to meet Louis’ thrusts, moving his legs further up Louis’ torso to allow him to push in closer. “I think,” Harry says with a gasp, “this is my new favourite thing ever.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, kissing his jaw. He reaches between their bodies, grabbing a hold of Harry’s leaking cock curved along his stomach. Louis’ close already - how could he not be when Harry is so wonderfully warm and positively tight around him? Never mind the sounds he’s eliciting, the flush in his cheeks, the way he’s biting his lip. How he managed to not also come after forty-five seconds is completely beyond him.

Harry curses as Louis’ hand begin to slide along his shaft, head tilted back towards the ceiling. His breaths are heavy and shaky, heavenly to Louis’ ears. Louis’ sucking a mark onto his collarbone when Harry places a hand on either side of his head, pulling him for a crushing kiss.

Louis licks into his mouth, all teeth, tongue and saliva. Harry’s legs tighten around Louis’ waist, pulling him impossibly close. “Louis,” he whines into his mouth as Louis circles his hips, cock massaging against his prostate.

“Can you come for me, baby?” Louis murmurs, his own release towering in his gut.

Harry moans in reply, and without a second, he comes inside of Louis’ fist, mouth falling open in a loud gasp.

“Shit,” Louis curses, “you’re so fucking hot.” With one last jerk of his hips, he allows himself to let go while impossibly deep inside of Harry, brain melting into incoherence as he moans and curses.

Louis falls boneless on top of Harry, their chests pounding in harmony. While waiting for their brains to return, Harry’s fingernails scratch dully across Louis’ back. If Louis doesn’t have sex like this for the rest of his life, then he’d be a fool.

Once Louis regains enough function in his brain for movement, he feathers kisses along Harry’s jaw as he pulls his cock out of him as delicately as he can.

Harry whines while Louis kisses his nose, and then his upper lip. He ties the condom off and chucks it on the floor, too knackered and dazed to throw it out properly and get a wet cloth to clean themselves off. He figures there’s little use anyway, as he suspects round two will come sooner rather than later.

Harry’s watching him with slitted, lovesick eyes as Louis curls into his side, pinching a damp curl between his fingers. “How are you feeling?”

Harry grins dopily, as if coming off a drug high. “Brilliant.”

“See, wasn’t so bad was it?” Louis chides, poking his ribs.

Harry catches his finger, intertwining them with his own as he giggles. “Nah, I suppose not.” He rolls over to press a sloppy kiss against Louis’ mouth. “I somehow feel a thousand times more in love with you than I was before.”

“Yeah,” Louis responds cheekily, “my cock has that effect.”

Harry growls, nipping onto his nose. “Oh, shush. I was trying to be romantic.”

Louis grins up at him. “I know. I feel a thousand more times in love with you too. My love shines brighter than the sun, my dear.”

Harry snorts, but kisses him with a grin nonetheless. “Dork.” Louis grins back, pecking him back until Harry pulls away with a suggestive smirk. “So… reckon we should do that again soon?”

“Well, I’d certainly hope so.”

And they do. By the time midnight rolls around, Louis’ fucked Harry three more times - twice, after Harry’s persistence, without a condom. At first, Harry wrinkled his nose, hands touching his come-filled hole with curiousty, and that was nearly enough to make Louis’ spent cock instantly hard.

After their third round, Louis insists that it’s best if he bottoms, as Harry’s arse will already be an aching mess the next day. Harry agrees, although somewhat reluctantly. He actually manages to last more than forty-five seconds, Louis coming closely after him this time. It’s not until after that Louis asks, “So, how was it? All you hoped for and more?”

Harry smiles up at him, batting his eyelashes with a certain air of abashment. “It was great, but…”

“But?” Louis presses with a raised eyebrow.

He grins. “I think I may prefer you fucking me, after all.”

Louis laughs, grabbing a handful of Harry’s thigh and knocking their mouths together. “I _knew_ it.”

 


	6. wrath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrath = drama, but that's kind of expected, right?!

 

The following Wednesday, Louis wakes to the sound of his bedroom door closing, followed by heavy footsteps across his wooden flooring. Even in his half-asleep state, Louis can tell that the tall, lean figure creeping towards his bed is Harry. He assumes it must be some ungodly time of the morning, judging by the dim, barely-there sunlight struggling to trickle in through his curtains. Louis gives an unintelligible mumble, senses rousing in fear of an emergency.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Harry says as he crawls across Louis’ bed, settling at his side. “Go back to sleep.”

With Harry’s hand in his hair and body nuzzled against his, Louis does just that.

When he wakes again, the room is considerably lighter, bright rays of late summer sunshine a hot blanket across their entangled bodies. It takes Louis a moment to discern whether his boxers and sheets are wet from sweat or his first wet dream since fifteen. Harry’s large, gangly body is draped entirely overtop of him, positively radiating with extreme body heat, both of their hairlines beading with sweat. On top of it all, he has a crick in his neck from where it was turned to make room for Harry’s giant head.

Louis groans, attempting to shove Harry’s dead weight off of him. “Harry, you bloody ogre, get off of me.”

“Mmph,” Harry whines, rolling into the pillow face first. “‘M not an ogre, you sod.”

“Don’t you possess any etiquette for sharing someone else's bed? What are you even doing here?”

“Good morning to you too,” Harry says with dry cheer. He lifts his leg to poke a toe against the tent in Louis’ boxers. “Your dick doesn’t look too upset over my presence.”

“Oh, trust me. It is. It had to endure your sweaty, heavy body suffocating it without even getting off.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He clambers back onto Louis, bum planted on his thighs. “God, you’re an absolute prat in the morning, you know that?” Louis does, actually. He’s been told many times before. It usually came with a smack across the head, or complete avoidance until his morning coffee pulled him out of it. But no, apparently not from Harry, who’s already in the process of tugging Louis’ underwear down his hips. Luckiest bugger in Britain, he is, feeling pleased as he settles further into the sheets, making himself comfy. This may just be the first positive response he’s ever received to his shite morning moods.

“You better be good,” Harry warns, looking at Louis seriously over his now-exposed stiffy. “I barely had any sleep last night so my already subpar cocksucking skills are further lacking. Thrust, and I’ll bite it off.”

“Oh, the sass turns me on, baby,” he teases, laughing, though he’s not about to object.

It earns him another eye roll and a pinch to his thigh. It actually hurts, but just as he’s about to cry out, Harry ducks, tongue swiping along his head. Louis remains as still as he can, only going so far as to lightly thread his fingers through Harry’s curls. _Subpar his arse._ Turns out the lack of careful concentration on Harry’s end might be better, after all. The lazy laps of his tongue are positively delightful, and the slow movements only seem to allow Harry the ability to take Louis in further. Louis’ sure his sleep-dazed mindframe only helps to heighten the arousal quickly building in his gut, as it only takes a few minutes before he taps on Harry’s shoulder to pull off. Harry does, wanking Louis off until he’s coming in curses, white streaks across his stomach.

“There. Feeling better now, princess?” he drawls wryly.

“Perfect,” Louis responds with a wide grin. “On second thought, you can take over my entire bed whenever you want.”

Harry chuckles, rolling his eyes as he flops onto his back next to Louis. Noticing that he’s also hard, Louis reaches for the waistband of his trousers only for Harry to wave him off. Louis frowns, about to ask what this mutant did to his recently sexcrazed boyfriend when Harry says to the ceiling, “My mum knows about us.”

“What?” Louis sits up to get a better look at Harry, skin buzzing in alarm. He searches Harry’s face for any signs of trauma or heartbreak, but he continues to stare at the ceiling with an impeccably calm expression. “How? What happened?”

“You remember that time she came home when we were trying to have sex?”

Louis nods. He’s hardly surprised. Actually, he’s a bit relieved to know that Harry’s mum isn’t so dense not to have picked up on their complete and utter shiftiness.

“Well,” Harry says, continuing to sound uncharastically collected for such a matter, “we forgot to hide the lube and condoms.”

“Oh. Shit.” How he feels more panicked than Harry appears is beyond him. Maybe he _is_ a mutant. “That was weeks ago, though. Why’d she wait until now?”

“She said she didn’t want to make any rash judgements, so that’s why she invited you over for dinner. To see.”

“And?” Louis probes, heartbeat steady. “What did she see?”

Harry flicks his eyes to Louis’, lips twisted together in a shy smile. “That I was in love with you.”

Louis’ cheeks heat, chest pattering away at the thrill of Harry’s love being clear enough for an outsider to take notice - whether that outsider was his own mother is besides the point. He pushes the thought aside long enough to press further. “Okay…” he drags. “That was still weeks ago.”

Harry shrugs. “I guess she didn’t know what to say. I think she needed time. I reckon the last push was when she found a condom wrapper on my floor after the weekend.”

While there’s still no hint of distress, Harry seems to have little ability to divulge further on such a serious topic without Louis’ continuous prompts. If Louis’ own adrenaline weren’t racing, and there weren’t more important issues at hand, he’d certainly be ribbing Harry for being such a shit storyteller.

“Okay, so, what else?” Louis asks, exasperation hardly hidden. “How does she feel? What did she say? You said you didn’t sleep much, were you upset? Is she angry? Did she tell your father?”

Harry huffs out a tiny laugh, though it doesn’t sound entirely humorous. “She was… surprisingly good about it.” Louis breathes a sigh of relief, the trace of a smile remaining on Harry’s lips calming him further. “She - I mean, she had a lot of time to think about it, right? She did some research. We stayed up all night talking. It was really good, Lou. There was some crying, of course, but it was good. Good tears, sort of. I think it was needed. Just to know that, no matter what happens with my dad, at least one of my parents still loves and supports me, you know?”

“Oh, Haz, that’s so great.” Louis beams, rolling onto his side to squish closer to Harry. He runs his thumb down his temple, and kisses his nose. “I’m so happy to hear that, love. I knew Anne was a good one.”

He nods in agreement, his own excitement seeming to flourish under Louis’. He wraps a hand around Louis’ entire wrist, and squeezes. “She wasn’t so happy about the fact that we’re having sex, though.”

“Oh, right.” Louis blanches. “I suppose she knows that I corrupted you for sure, yeah?”

Harry bites back a grin. “Unfortunately.”

“Lovely,” he says dryly. Louis’ usually not the type to mind these sorts of things. He’s never much felt the need to be ashamed about the fact that he’s a sexual being who also happens to have sex, except, well - yeah, it’s a little weird. “Is she going to tell your dad?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, she said that’s for me to do. But that I should do it before he finds out on his own.”

“Does it - does her reaction give you hope for your dad?” Louis asks with a delicate tone and what he hopes to be a neutral expression.

Harry hesitates, then slowly shakes his head, as if it’s painful to do so. “No,” he says. “It’s different with my mum. I’ve always been closer to her. She gets me better. She’s more understanding. I’ve never -” he exhales, biting onto his lip before continuing, “I’ve never questioned her love the way I have my dad.”

“Harry, come on, your dad loves you,” Louis says insistently. He may hate the man, but he can’t be so bad as to not love his son - even _if_ that son is gay.

“No, I know that now,” Harry says. “It’s just hard not to question that as a kid though, him being the way he is. Especially when I’ve disappointed him. He doesn’t always express his love right, but well, I get it now. Doesn’t always make it easy though.”

“Yeah.” Louis nods in quiet understanding, stroking the curls behind his ear. Hasn’t that been much like the leading narrative between him and his own mother? “It’s good though, that you have your mum to be the buffer when he does find out, yeah? To stand up for you.”

“Yeah,” he says, not sounding entirely convinced. “Maybe. It’s not easy to stand up to my dad though. Once he has something in his head, it’s almost impossible to convince him otherwise. It doesn’t matter if I’m his son, or how much research my mum gives him. He’s still my dad, and I’m still a sinner.”

“Hey, hey,” Louis soothes, kissing along his jaw, “let’s stop talking about this and getting ourselves all down right now, alright? Let’s just focus on your mum, and be grateful that she’s accepting. We have plenty of time to think about your dad.”

“Hmm, yeah, you’re right.” Harry cranes his neck to catch Louis’ mouth in a soft kiss. He walks his fingers up Louis’ chest, flicking his chin lightly. “She wants to have some tea with us, now that she knows that you’re my proper boyfriend and all. She wants to do all that embarrassing mother stuff, not that she hasn’t already.”

Louis chuckles, delighting in the idea of more embarrassing - yet highly flattering - stories of Harry’s affections. “I’d love that.”

Harry pinches his side, knocking their noses together. “Yeah,” he laughs, “I bet you would.”

*

It’s not until the first week of September, and a week before he leaves for school, that it seems to hit Harry that Niall is moving to London. Due to this, Louis expects not to see much of Harry until he does, at least not without Niall in tow.

A few times now Harry has pouted, making comments about how the two of them would be off in London, living the dream while he was stuck in - he quotes - _smelly Manchester._ Neither he nor Niall had to remind him that that was very much _his_ decision. Louis’ debt is entirely paid off now, but before returning he wants to save a couple grand for cushion - he’s determined not to make the same mistake again. This time, Louis will definitely not be returning to Holmes Chapel with his tail between his legs.

Him and Harry still have yet to have a proper discussion about it. Of course Louis has no plans to end the relationship by any means. The distance between London and Holmes Chapel is small enough, a decently short train ride, but even just the thought of their relationship being reduced to nightly phone calls and monthly visits is enough to make Louis’ heart physically ache. Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the distance, but he knows that he can’t stay here.

It’s an especially slow day at work when Harry and Niall come in for a pint, seeking refuge at the end of his bar. Since no one else is in the pub except for an older man watching the telly, Louis stays near them, chatting.

When the bell above the door chimes, Louis instinctively looks up to see who’s entered. He expects it to be more older men coming to watch the game, maybe a family stopping for a bite to eat during a road trip, but instead they appear to be two younger blokes around his age. He does a double take, squinting through the midday sunshine streaming through the door, and -

“Zayn?! Holy shit!” Louis cries, dashing out from behind the bar to launch himself at Zayn’s lean body. He has to stop himself from wrapping all four limbs around him, instead settling for a bone-crushing hug. “What are you doing here?!”

Zayn grins, returning the hug with matched enthusiasm. “Thought I’d come and save your poor arse.”

“A little too late for that, don’t you think?” Louis asks, finally pulling back to knock at his arm playfully.

“Ah, right, silly me. You’re getting laid now.”

Louis punches him harder. “Shut it, prat.”

Zayn laughs, clearly oblivious to Harry’s presence just a few feet away where Louis assumes he’s watching them intently. Louis kind of hopes he didn’t hear that, though he’s sure he did. He doesn’t want Harry thinking he’s just so casually telling people about their sex life - because he’s not, Zayn _is_ just a prat.

“Oh, brilliant, I see you cut your ratty hair.”

See, _prat._

Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring him as he slides past to greet Liam, pulling him in for his own large hug. “I can’t believe you two buggers, just surprising me like this,” he says into Liam’s broad shoulder.

“We had to. Knew it was worth this reaction,” Liam says.

“Buggers,” he repeats, though he’s smiling just the same. When he pulls away, he all but drags the two of them over to where Harry and Niall sit.

Harry is perched at the edge of his stool, doing a horrible job at appearing casual as his eyes instantly dart towards the counter, taking a small sip of his beer. Meanwhile, Niall’s grinning easily at them, like they’re just as good of mates to him as they are to Louis.

Harry doesn’t look at them until Louis’ making the introductions, and then he’s clambering off the stool like a drunken fawn, all long, wobbly limbs. “Hey. Hi, I’ve heard so much about you two,” Harry says, jittery with flushed cheeks. Louis doesn’t even know what’s going _on_ right now. “I mean, like, of course I know you, Zayn. Going to the same school and all. Though I don’t expect you to remember me much at all. I guess we don’t really know each other then, but we knew - I know. I mean.” He lets out a long breath, eyes darting towards Louis helplessly.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I remember you. Nice to see you again, mate.” Zayn smirks in a way that leads Louis to think that he’s actually silently laughing at his boyfriend. Just as he’s about to smack him once more for being a twat, Zayn turns to glance at Louis and, oh. He _knows_ that look.

Louis rests a hand on Harry’s lower back, puffing his chest out in pride. Yeah, that’s right. He _told_ him Harry that was fit.  

Harry shakes Liam’s hand while Zayn nods hello to Niall. They all settle into seats, Louis figuring he should return behind the bar, as he is _supposed_ to be working. “So, what are you doing here? How long are you here for?” Louis questions, hovering in the space between Zayn and Harry.

“Well, me mum’s been bugging me to come see her and the girls. Figured it had been awhile. Plus, like I said, your sorry arse is here. Felt guilty I hadn’t come around to see you yet.”

“Aww,” Louis coos, bumping his fist, “did you miss me, Zayney?”

“No.”

“He did,” Liam chirps. “Cried himself to sleep every night, didn’t you, babe?”

“Absolutely not.”

Liam looks to Louis and mouths, “It’s true.”

Zayn catches it and knocks his elbow, shooting him a look of betrayal. “We’re just here for the weekend,” he says instead. “When you off?”

“A couple hours.” Louis grins. “You reckon we should have a fire near the river for old times’ sake?”

“Promised dinner with the fam, but after, for sure.” Zayn turns to include Liam, offering a cheeky smile. “We can show Li what this shite town is all about.” He quickly turns back to glance at Harry and Niall, shooting them an apologetic look. “No harm.”

“Not at all, mate,” Niall says brightly. “I’d be the first to admit it. Ireland’s my true home, anyway.”

Harry shrugs, offering a smile.

Zayn and Liam stay around to chat for a bit longer, Harry seeming to warm up but still a bit skittish and apprehensive. He offers small comments here and there, though never anything that holds much weight at all, and yet every time he glances over at Louis as if searching for approval. For the rest of the time he watches Zayn and Liam with a focused, yet curious, expression. At one point, he looks so still that Louis reckons he could reach over and poke him, and he wouldn’t even react. Harry’s usually a bit weird, but he’s just being plain odd.

If Zayn or Liam notice his behaviour, they don’t comment, or put any particular reaction to it. He suspects that if Zayn does notice, Louis will surely be hearing about it soon.

When they decide it’s time to head out, the five of them make plans to meet at the river at eight. Louis doesn’t even bat an eyelash as they walk out holding hands, so attuned to seeing it, but it’s after that he notices Harry openly gaping after them. Once they’ve been gone for at least a full minute, Harry finally tears his eyes from the door to see Louis staring right at him, a curious yet knowing smirk on his face. Harry ducks his head, and excuses himself to the toilets.

Louis checks to make sure there are no looming drink orders, and moves out from behind the bar to follow after him, saying to Niall, “You know how to pour a pint, yeah?”

Niall scoffs. “What kind of question is that?”

“Oi, Harry,” Louis calls out, catching him in the dim hallway just before the gents’ room.

Harry stops, turning to look at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

He frowns. “Nothing.”

“Why were you being so weird?”

He blushes, arms folding across his chest. “I wasn’t - I mean, I didn’t mean to. I was just - nervous, I suppose.”

“Nervous?” Louis questions. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs loosely. “It’s Zayn, your best mate. I’ve heard so much about the two of them. And like, Zayn was so cool in secondary too, and I was such a dork. I want him to think I’m cool.” He ducks his head, attempting to cover the blush that’s creeping up from his v-neck, kicking the floor with his foot. “That sounds so stupid, I know.”

Louis chuckles quietly, but it’s only full of fondness. He reaches forward, squeezing Harry’s waist. “That’s not stupid. That’s adorable.”

Harry glimpses back at him, but it’s only to roll his eyes. He allows Louis to tug him forward anyway, bodies knocking together. “It’s embarrassing. I was a total knob.”

“‘S true,” Louis murmurs gravely, “now he definitely thinks you’re no more than a fit piece of arse.”

Harry squawks in offense, knocking Louis in the arm. “Hey!”

“I’m kidding.” Louis smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I guarantee you Zayn is more of a knob than you are. Don’t let those smouldering looks and tattoos fool you.”

Harry continues to eye him dubiously, but slowly he lets it pass, a smile creeping across his lips. Louis can’t help but kiss him. Harry doesn’t pull away, but with a warning tone, he says, “We’re in public, you know…”

“No one’s here.”

Harry sighs, relenting, this time the one to lean in. “So,” he says after a few chaste kisses, “Zayn and Liam are really going to walk through the village holding hands, hm?”

Louis shrugs. “Don’t think they care much what a bunch of close-minded, uncultured bumpkins have to say about them.”

Harry gives him a look, eyebrows furrowed. “ _Louis._ ”

“What?” Louis asks innocently. “It’s true.”

Harry pulls out from his arms. “Well, you could say the same about me then. That I’m just an ‘uncultured bumpkin’?”

“Harry,” Louis says with a long breath, “you know you’re not.”

“Well, I’m from the same community. Go to the same church, don’t I?” he points out peevishly. “I have no plans to move away like you and Zayn and Niall. I can even count the amount of times I’ve left this ‘shit town’ on one hand. So, just because I’m gay I get a pass?”

“No, of course not,” Louis insists. He attempts to grab for his waist again, but Harry ducks away, hand hovering on the doorknob for the gents’ room. “Haz, come on,” he says in frustration. “You know that’s not true. You know that’s not what I said, nor is it how I think of you.”

Harry sighs, pushing the door open. “I still need to use the toilet, and you’re still working,” he says, and disappears inside.

Louis groans, and considers following behind for all of five seconds before turning back towards the bar. Let him huff it out.

It’s not at all surprising that when Harry returns, he tells Niall they’re leaving. He doesn’t even bother to slow down or make eye contact with Louis as he continues towards the door.

“But your beer,” Niall says.

Harry waves him off. “It’s free.”

Niall looks at Louis in confusion over the brim of his glass, chugging back the remainder of his own lager. Louis glances over to where Harry hovers at the door, arms crossed impatiently, and rolls his eyes in agitation. “He’s pissed because I called the people in this village bumpkins,” Louis says in explanation.

“They are though.”

“Exactly,” Louis says. “You try telling him that.”

Niall frowns, still clearly not understanding. He stands, about to pull his wallet from his pocket when Louis waves him off. It doesn’t matter how many times Louis tells him that his drinks are on him, he never stops trying to pay anyway. “Thanks, mate. See you tonight then, yeah?” Louis nods, and Niall says behind his shoulder, “I’ll try and get his panties untwisted for you.”

Louis cringes. “Please don’t touch his panties.”

Niall cackles out laughter, already halfway across the pub. “Right. Almost forgot. Those are strictly for you.”

The lone man at the bar turns from the telly to stare at Louis. Louis blinks back innocently, hoping Harry can’t see from where he stands. Then he’ll be even more pissed.

“Hey, see you at eight, right?” Louis calls once Harry’s halfway out the door.

He stops to glance at Louis, taking a moment before nodding tersely. He disappears out the door without another word, Niall chuckling all the way behind him.

*

Louis is the last to get to the river, a case of beer in tow. The fire is already going, burning steadily against the breeze. Niall brought his guitar along again, strumming a quiet tune while Harry chats to Liam and Zayn, visibly calmer than earlier.

Louis hesitates before taking the empty spot next to Harry, but he decides to take his chances. He slides a beer into his hands, and Harry takes it, glancing at him only briefly. Louis catches no animosity in his gaze, so when there’s a break in his conversation, Louis takes it as permission to lean in and bump his mouth against his ear. “Still angry with me?”

Harry shakes his head, but doesn’t look at him as he pulls the tab off his can. “No,” he says, taking a sip.

“Still a bastard though?’

“Of course,” Harry replies easily, “you’re always a bastard.”

Louis snorts. He supposes that’s fair enough.

It takes another five minutes before Harry’s turning to properly curl into his side, giving him a quick, shy peck. “Sorry for overreacting,” he mumbles into his neck.

Louis shrugs. “Sorry for indirectly insulting you.”

Harry snickers, knocking his nose against his Adam’s apple and kissing his collarbone. “S’okay.”

“Cute, aren’t they?” Niall comments over his guitar.  

“Precious,” Zayn responds, grinning wickedly.

Louis narrows his eyes at him and sticks out his tongue. Later on, when they meet near the case of beer, Zayn murmurs quietly enough for Harry not to overhear, “Sorry I doubted you, mate. He’s sure fit, all right.”

“You doubted me?” Louis gasps, feigning offence.

“He’s the vicar’s son. Let up,” Zayn says, shooting him a pointed look. “When I left he was a fourteen-year-old with baby fat in khakis singing in the church choir, no less.”

“Hey, he was fit then too.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, corner of his mouth twisting into a smirk. “Oh, really? Did you even _know_ he was in the choir?”

Louis blinks.

“That’s what I thought.” Zayn’s grin widens, eyes twinkling with mischief. Louis braces himself for the inevitable. “I reckon you were too busy with your teacher’s cock in your mouth to notice.”

Louis punches him in the arm hard enough to leave a mark, snapping his neck to see if Harry was listening after all. He’s chatting happily along to Liam, oblivious. “Christ, I forgot how much of an absolute prick you are. I was wrong, I didn’t miss you at all.”

Zayn grabs another beer and heads back towards the fire, laughing the entire way.

Unsurprisingly, it’s not long before the topic of London is brought up, along with the realization that Zayn and Liam’s new flat will be just a few tube stops away from where Niall will be living. They’re in the process of promising to show Niall around, when Louis interrupts.

“I didn’t know you moved.”

“We will at the end of the month,” Liam says. “It’s a really lovely two bedroom flat in Angel. It was a steal, we couldn’t turn it down.”

“Two bedrooms?” Louis questions with a perked eyebrow. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Zayn,” Louis gasps, scandalized, “are you pregnant?”

“You caught me.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “It’s a nice place in a nice area, and like I said, it’s a good price. With me getting into a firehouse and Zayn getting a promotion, it’s doable financially,” he explains. He glances at Zayn, and briefly over to Harry before landing back on Louis. “So if and when you decide to come back, you’d have somewhere to stay for a bit, and in your own room this time.”

Harry shifts next to him, taking a long swig of his beer while Louis says, “Wow, that’s brilliant. But please don’t tell me my impending homelessness was any factor in this.”

“No,” Zayn speaks up. “Its main purpose is a guest room, and you know, the plan is to stick there long term, so you never know in a few years…” He pauses to exchange a dopey grin with Liam, so lovesick that Louis nearly chokes on it. The worst part is that it’s not at all surprising that they’re already discussing possible future children at twenty-two. Once he’s done swapping gooey eyes with Liam, he turns back to Louis to say, “But we wouldn’t be opposed to taking your money for the first bit.”

“Aw, how sweet,” Louis says sweetly, holding his hand to his chest.

“Only for you, man,” Zayn says with a wink.

Turning from Zayn, Louis slides a hand over Harry’s knee and squeezes while offering him a small, probing smile. Harry doesn’t meet his gaze, but Louis catches his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He doesn’t have to ask to know how Harry feels about all of this, but still, sometimes he’d appreciate a little verbal recognition of the fact that in a couple short months they’ll be living hours apart.

It’s around midnight when the fire dies out and they decide to pack up and head home. Even though it’s late, Louis finds himself surprised when Harry holds his hand all the way down the street to where they part ways. Not a soul is on the street except for them and maybe a stray cat, but the street lamps are on and there are houses all around them, and still, Harry kisses him goodbye, right there in the middle of all of it. He pulls away, shy and bashful, though still seeming pleased. Louis’ not entirely certain what to think of it, but he supposes it might be a step of sorts.

While Harry might not kiss him out in the open again that weekend, Louis definitely notices a certain brashness in his actions that wasn’t there before. He continues to watch Zayn and Liam with muted interest, studying every display of affection as if it may be on a later exam. While their affections hardly lack glares from passersby, most people seem either not to notice at all, or look at them in curious bewilderment. Besides one under-the-breath comment made by an older man in line at the cafe, no one has said a word to their faces. Harry seems perplexed by this - that no Bibles have been thrown at their heads, or that no forced, public exorcisms have taken place. But, Louis must admit, so is he.

Harry’s own affections don’t extend much further than casual grazes of his hand against Louis’ back or arm, at least not until dinner on the last night of Zayn and Liam’s visit. They’re at the back table in a crowded restaurant, so Louis very much doubts that anyone would even be able to _see_ , but when Harry holds his hand under the table for five whole minutes, Louis can’t help but grin goofily into his plate of chips the entire time.

Louis doesn’t know how to thank Zayn and Liam for seemingly bringing this out in Harry without outright saying it, so he settles with giving them an extra tight hug goodbye and kiss to each cheek.

Before driving off, while huddled near the passenger door and away from the earshot of the others, Zayn pats Louis on the shoulder and says, “I’m happy for you, Lou. You seem great. I knew you’d find it.”

Louis hums in acknowledgment, breaking out into a crooked grin. He doesn’t want to appear _too_ lovesick, so all he says is, “Thanks, Z. I am.”

“I’ll see you in London soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods briefly, “soon.”

Zayn glances over to where Harry stands on the other side of the car, chatting idly with Liam. When he turns back to Louis, there’s a gleam of understanding in his eyes. “It’s just a little over two hours, remember? You can even borrow my car sometimes, alright?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Louis goes in for another hug, holding him tight, even swaying back and forth a few times like a couple of nutters. Zayn may be an insufferable prat, but it’s part of what makes Louis love him so much.

“Love ya, mate,” Zayn says as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Love you too.”

He calls out his last goodbyes with Harry at his side, hand tucked discreetly on his lower back. After they drive off, Liam’s rap music is audible for at least another minute. Louis certainly does not miss _that._

“I guess I have two more people to visit in London, hm?” Harry comments, feigning nonchalance.

“Yeah,” Louis manages, throat dry, “suppose you do.”

Harry offers a smile, though it stops just before it reaches his eyes. “It’ll be okay.”

Louis perks an eyebrow in question, and Harry just shrugs. He slides his hand down to Louis’ wrist, and squeezes.

*

Louis’ about to head to work when Phoebe comes crashing through the front door, Daisy lagging behind with a touch less dramaticism. Phoebe throws herself against Louis, burying her face into his stomach. She’s _wailing_. “Lou, I’m so, so sorry!”

Louis’ hand hovers over her head, frozen by her unexpected outburst. Slowly, he lowers it to run comfortingly through her hair, glancing inquisitively at Daisy who only shrugs. “Pheebs, darling, what’s wrong?” Louis asks softly.

“You’re gonna hate me, Lou. I’m so sorry.” She sniffles.

“Pheebs,” he says a little more firmly, tapping her head until she pulls out from his stomach to peek up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’m not going to hate you. Just tell me. What is it?”

She wipes a hand across her face, blinking through the lingering tears. “There’s this girl in my class, Maggie Wilde, and she’s been - she’s been bothering me since school started. Always saying stuff. I always keep my mouth shut and don’t say anything. But today, at recess, she kept saying that you - that I have a fag brother. And she said that - she said you’re gonna go to hell. And she said that our whole family will because of you. And I just - I’m so sorry, Louis. I got so angry. I just wanted her to stop saying those things so I told her that - that if you go to hell, then so will Reverend Styles’ son. It just slipped out. I just wanted her to stop saying it was bad and I thought that if she knew that someone like Harry is gay too, then she would see that it wasn’t so bad and that you weren’t really going to go to hell.”

Louis takes in a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to properly consider the consequences of her words. He’s hardly surprised this has happened. In fact, he’s more surprised that this didn’t happen sooner. He knew this secret was too big of a burden for his nine-year-old sisters - even for thirteen year-old Fizzy - to bear. It had been Harry’s decision mainly, stemming from the time in July when Daisy had walked in on them exchanging a quick kiss in the kitchen. Louis was all ready with some ridiculous excuse that only a ten-year-old could buy, when Harry got down to her level and in very simple, soft terms told her that he was in a relationship with her big brother. He answered her slew of questions (“Yes, like a girlfriend except I’m his boyfriend.” “No, he’s my boyfriend too.” “Yes, we do love each other.” “Very much.”) That lead to sitting down both Phoebe and Fizzy afterwards, repeating the same process and then explaining to them the best they could why they had to keep it between them for now.

Louis didn’t want to lie to them, but he also knew the pressure of bearing such a secret at that age. He didn’t want to put them through that, which is why although he feels a lot of things, anger is not one of them. “Of course I don’t hate you,” Louis soothes.

“Really?” She asks, timidly pleased. “You’re not angry?”

“No, I’m not. You did what you thought you had to. Thank you for standing up for me and Harry,” Louis says. “But next time something like this happens, maybe try and leave Harry out of it? At least until we’re ready to tell people ourselves, okay?”

“Okay.” She gnaws on her bottom lip, hardly any less frightened. “Is Harry going to be angry then?”

“No, sweetie, I don’t think he will be. He’ll understand that you were put in a tough position.”

“Okay.” She beams, smushing her face back into Louis’ stomach as she goes in for another hug.

Louis’ heart melts. He’s missed his sisters these past four years. He’d felt incredibly guilty for not seeing them, for being the distant, elusive brother that existed more in faded memories and Skype chats than anything tangible. This time that he’s had back, getting to know them and seeing the girls they’re becoming, has been a blessing all on its own. They’re bright and beautiful and vivacious - he sees parts of himself in them, and then so much more. Louis loves them all dearly; he’s made a promise to himself that no matter how the future goes, he will never let as much time pass without seeing them as he has in the past.

“Louis…” she says uneasily, lip still pulled between her teeth.

“Yes, love?”

“Are we really going to hell?”

Louis hates that he hesitates. “No, we’re not.”

“Not even you and Harry?”

“No,” he replies with what he hopes is conviction.

“How do you know?”

Louis pauses, once again wishing he had an immediate answer - or any answer at all. He’s definitely going to be late for work now. “Because,” he begins after what he hopes wasn’t too long of a pause, “Jesus loves us just like he loves you.” He bops her on the nose, eliciting a grin. “Harry and I love each other and we’re very happy, and I think that makes Him happy. Don’t you think? Do you think Jesus is happy when we’re happy, and we’re loving and respecting others, no matter how different they may be?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

“Okay.” She lets out a sigh of relief, going in for yet another hug. “Good. I didn’t think you would, anyway.”

Louis strokes a hand through her hair, thankful that the belief comes easily to at least one of them.

*

When he tells Harry what happened later that evening, he takes it amazingly well - even after they realize that the girl Phoebe told was the child of a family close to Harry’s. Since Harry doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal, neither does Louis, and by the end of the week he’s nearly forgotten about it entirely, figuring nothing is going to come out of it.

But then, at eleven at night, just as Louis’ getting ready to go to bed, he gets a text from Harry saying, _i’m coming over_ , and nothing else.

When there’s a knock on his front door five minutes later, the feeling that something awful has happened is undeniable. He races up the stairs, the first to reach the door. As soon as he opens it, Harry comes crashing into him much like Phoebe had - except with the added height and considerably less wailing. Though it takes a few moments for him to realize that the sniffling next to his ear is, in fact, Harry crying.

“Harry, what - ”

“It’s my dad,” Harry splutters.

Louis’ gut sinks, his suspicions confirmed. “What about -”

“He knows.”  

“Oh, baby…” Louis cradles Harry’s head, pushing his fingers through his hair and pressing his mouth against his forehead. He keeps it there, at a loss for what to say, while Harry hiccups against his chin.

“Boys,” comes Jay’s tentative voice, “what’s wrong?”

Harry jerks away, wiping a hand across his entire face, as if that would hide the fact that he’s been crying. His eyes are still wet and rimmed red, cheeks flushed and splotchy, and Louis’ heart absolutely _breaks_. Harry looks at her for exactly two seconds before his face is crumpling again. “My dad knows.”

“Oh, sweetheart, come here,” she says, outstretching her arms, and he falls into them without hesitation. Louis watches as she strokes one hand through his hair, the other rubbing circles into his back. “Shh, it’ll be okay.”

“He kicked me out,” Harry says, voice cracking.

Louis bites onto his knuckles, breathing in deep as he fights the urge to run down the street to the Styles’ and kick the reverend’s arse. It’s not at all unexpected, but still, he had _hoped_. He had hoped that he would treat his own son with a little more compassion and understanding than he had Louis, but no. Of course he hadn’t. That absolute bloody _prick._

“It’s okay. You can stay here as long as you need, alright?” Jay soothes. “Here, how about you boys go into the living room and get all cozied up, and I’ll put on some chamomile for you, okay?”  

When they pull apart, Louis is instantly at his side, slipping an arm around his waist and tugging him close. Once settled in the living room, blanket spread across their laps, Harry’s crying has faded into quiet sniffles. Louis kisses his temple, hands in his hair, and murmurs, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Harry gives a small nod. “It started by - he said that the Wildes had told him that Phoebe told Maggie that we were together. And he said that a few people had talked to him and raised concerns about me hanging around and being with Zayn and Liam when they were here. He said that -” he takes a shaky breath, “he said he was serious about me not hanging out with you anymore. That not only was it causing me to throw away my values and what I believe in, but it was starting to look bad on me. That people were starting to question it, enough that actual rumours were being spread around - even if it was just by children.”

Harry breaks to swallow, jaw tightening. “He couldn’t even - he didn’t even _ask_ me if it was true. It’s just such a blasphemous possibility that I could be gay - he didn’t want to connect the dots. I’m close with you, I’m spending time with an openly gay couple, your own _sister_ is saying we’re together. Still, nothing. He was still in denial. It was like he wanted me to spell it out for him like we were on bloody _Sesame Street_.”

Louis nods in understanding, squeezing his hand. Jay enters the living room then, two mugs in hand. She sets them down on the coffee table before taking a seat in the chair adjacent to them, the worry and sympathy in her eyes too thick to miss.

Harry thanks her, taking it into his hands and cradling it against his chest. Louis stays close, hand running along his side.

“Anyway,” Harry says, voice still raw and cracked from crying, “I just - I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him. I said, ‘What if I am, dad? What if I’m with Louis?’ And then he was talking like I was only saying it to get him angry. Like I was back-talking him, so I just said, ‘I’m with Louis. He’s my boyfriend. I love him.’” He swallows, head dropping against the back of the couch as he blinks up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen him more angry before. God, the _disgust_ -”

Louis sighs in anguish, a medley of emotions rushing through him - he’s angry, he’s aching, he’s baffled, he’s proud. Yet if he could suck out all the pain inside Harry and instead take it for himself, he would - in a heartbeat. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, feeling his own tears pricking on. “Was your mum there at least?”

“Yeah,” he says, “she didn’t really know what to say, though. I guess I can’t really blame her. I mean, she tried a bit, but it doesn’t matter, my dad wouldn’t hear it. He was angry that she knew and kept it from him, and that - well, of course that she was accepting over it. How dare she condone my inexcusable, sinful behaviour,” he spits out.   

Louis clenches the hand not on Harry’s waist, tongue bitten down between his teeth. He has to remind himself that his swelling rage is _not_ what Harry needs right now.

“In the end he told me that he can’t have me living under his roof, not until he figures out what to do with me. I told him I’d rather live on the street than go to one of those anti-gay camps.”

“You don’t have to worry about that happening,” Jay pipes in. “I meant it, you can stay here for however long you need.”

Harry glances up at her, wiping his hand under his nose while murmuring a soft thank you. Louis looks at her over his head, sending her what he can manage of an appreciative smile. Maybe, for once, the well-being of someone else is _finally_ more important than the reverend’s approval.

The three of them sit for awhile, mostly quiet as they sip their tea, Harry still curled against Louis’ side. He’s stopped crying, and Louis is able to breathe again.

When they head off to bed, Jay catches Louis by the staircase. “It’s fine that he sleeps with you tonight,” she says quietly, “but you know you’re going to have to figure out other sleeping arrangements.”

Louis could argue. He can certainly feel the protests creeping up his throat, but instead, he lurches forward, encompassing her in a tight hug. “Thanks, mum.”

She tenses against the sudden gesture, taken aback. Understandably so, as Louis can’t even recall the last time they exchanged a proper hug that was out of genuine want rather than mere obligation. Slowly, though, she relaxes, circling her arms around him and holding him close. For one brief moment, Louis allows himself to feel twelve again, back before the fights and the tears and the letdowns.

“Love you,” Louis murmurs into her hair. She smells just the way he remembers from when he was a kid.

“Love you too, darling.”

Harry’s already wrapped up in his sheets when he gets downstairs, curled in a ball and facing the wall. He doesn’t move when Louis enters, switching off the light and sliding in next to him. Louis cloaks his arms around Harry’s chest, pulling his back flush against him. Harry’s such a giant that it’s usually more comfortable for their positions to be reversed, but Louis treasures this role when it’s given. He likes feeling like he can be Harry’s protector. He likes the fact that even though Harry would have no problem holding his own, that Louis can still be there for him, that he can offer something. That he’s needed. He wants to take care of Harry - he _loves_ it.

Three days later, Harry and his father still have yet to speak. As promised, Harry stays at Louis’. Phoebe moves into Daisy’s room, and Louis gives his to Harry. Louis certainly does _not_ sneak into his room while everyone is asleep, and they definitely do _not_ have have sex while Harry muffles his moans into a bunched up sheet.

They go about their business as they would any other autumn day - Harry still catches a ride to Manchester every morning with Abi, and Louis still serves beer at the pub. Besides the fact that Harry’s temporarily living with him, nothing seems to change much at all, even though Louis wonders if it _should_. Not that he wants to give the reverend’s contempt that power, but still. He reckons there should be more tension or something. While Harry isn’t quite his usual chipper self, he isn’t broken either, which is good except for the fact that Louis sometimes wonders if he’s more upset over it than Harry. He’s certainly more angry. He’s been involved in a continuous battle with himself not to march over to the Styles’ residence and punch him right in the face.  

On the fourth day, Harry’s mum comes over, and the three of them, plus Jay, have tea out on the patio. They don’t talk about it at first, which is nice, even though the underlying tension is as if Harry’s dad were sitting right there with them. For a moment, Louis can pretend this is normal. Just another day with his boyfriend and their mums, having a light Saturday afternoon chat. The last thing he wants is the reverend’s name to come crashing through, ruining it all, though he knows it’s inevitable.

Finally, Harry is the first to bring it up, by asking point blank, “So, what’s happening with dad?”

Anne’s shoulders visibly fall, looking over Harry with a thoughtful expression, as if she’s trying to decide whether to be painfully honest or not. “I’m working on him,” is what she says. “You know how he is.”

“Should I try and talk to him?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “I’m not sure just yet, sweetheart. I’m afraid it won’t be much different, and I don’t want you hurt all over again. Maybe in a few more days.”

“Is a few more days really going to make any difference?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly.

Harry sinks into his chair, sighing into his hand. Louis reaches out to massage his shoulder comfortingly. “What exactly am I supposed to do?” Harry asks. “I can’t stay here forever. I have nowhere else to go.”

Their mums exchange looks, and this time, Jay’s the one to speak. “Well, if need be, you can stay here more long term. As far as I know Louis will be returning to London, and then you won’t need to feel like you’re putting anyone out. Though I don’t think the twins mind sharing anyway.”

Louis shifts at the mention of him returning to London, hand stilling on Harry’s shoulder momentarily. Harry doesn’t look at him. “I’ll still be living in the same small village as him, though. I can’t avoid him forever, and I don’t want to. He’s my dad.”

They all look at each other, at a loss for direction. After a moment of silence, Harry turns to Louis and says, “I could maybe move to London.”

Louis blinks at him in surprise, hand dropping from his shoulder. “Move to London?” he repeats.

Harry shrugs, suddenly looking timid and unsure. “Well, I mean, I could. If my dad doesn’t want to even speak to me…”

“Harry, you’re in school,” Louis reminds him. “You can’t go from London to Manchester everyday.”

“I know that,” he says hurriedly, cheeks brightening. “But, I just - ” his eyes flick to his mum’s, then back to Louis’, briefly falling to the table as he conjures the words. “I mean, I mentioned to you that I wasn’t really liking it.”

“One time,” Louis says. “One time you mentioned to me that it was boring.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking about it more,” he replies stubbornly. “I thought that you’d be happy that I was thinking of moving to London.”

Louis pauses, allowing himself to think and process this newly acquired information. This is _so_ not the conversation he wants to be having while their mums stare at them expectantly.

“Harry, you can’t drop out of uni,” Anne says, swooping in to be the voice of reason.

“I wouldn’t. I just - I’m not even sure law is what I want to do, I just went into it because. Maybe I need more time to think before committing,” he explains. “Plus, like, I didn’t want to say anything, but I actually got into a culinary school in London. It’s really well-known. I deferred my acceptance, so I thought…” He trails off, shrugging.

“When did you even apply?” Louis asks incredulously..

He looks away, embarrassed. “After our talk, at the spring fair. It was just for fun. I didn’t think I’d actually consider going…”

“Harry,” Anne sighs, “you want to give up law for cooking?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “You sound like dad,” he mutters.

“I just want you to really think about this,” she says sensibly. “Manchester is a good school. As far as I’ve known, you’ve wanted to get into law for a long time. Things will get figured out with your dad. Don’t let his stubbornness ruin this for you.”

“Or me,” Louis adds in quietly.

Harry turns to look at him, eyes ablaze. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be _happy_. You were the one that made fun of me for taking law at Manchester. Like it was some obligation to the expectations to my dad. Or would you rather me be a two-hour train ride away?”

Louis exhales soundly. “You know that’s not the case. I just don’t want you throwing away your plans and goals for someone else - whether that’s because of your dad or me. I agree with your mum, just really think about it, love. Make sure it’s what you want.” Before Harry can argue further, he adds in, “Plus, two hours really isn’t all that long. London traffic can be even worse. Two hours is short enough for day trips, if need be. We’ll still see each other.” He reaches out to stroke his hand through Harry’s hair, and while he doesn’t pull away, the look of utter betrayal doesn’t seem to lessen much.

“That’s exactly why I should take a break, because I don’t know what I want. Isn’t it better that I think about it while not throwing away money and time into uni in the process?” Harry persists. “It’s not like I couldn’t apply for a uni in London if law is something I really want to do.”

“Let’s just see what happens with your father first, alright?” Anne says. “You should at least finish the semester anyway, no matter the decision.”

Harry doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t argue. Not wanting to get excited over Harry’s inane ideas of dropping out of school, Louis doesn’t allow himself to dwell any further on the possibility.

A week later, Harry informs him that they’re going to see his father the following day. It’s not even a question, it’s a fact, clear that Louis has no choice in the matter.

“I’m not going to play nice,” he warns.

Harry shrugs, unconcerned. “Fine.”  

So sure enough, off they go, the both of them dragging their feet down the road towards their persecution. It probably takes them double the time to get there than it usually does, Louis inwardly whining to himself the entire time. Halfway there, Harry’s hand finds his, intertwining their fingers together.

Louis looks at him, startled by the bold and very public move. Harry shrugs him off. “My dad knows, right? There’s no one left to hide it from,” he says as if it were an entirely sound and reasonable explanation.

Louis supposes it is, but still, he expected at least a conversation about coming out to the entire village before parading around in broad daylight holding hands. It’s not that Louis’ scared of the town’s reactions, except, well - a bit of preparation would’ve been nice, is all.

Two people pass them on the way. Harry keeps his eyes fixed ahead, steps hardly faltering. Louis, on the other hand, falters just a bit. He doesn’t dare look at their expressions, eyes to the ground. He hopes Harry doesn’t notice. He’s talked a lot of talk over these past few months, the whole ‘fuck all to this bigoted village and everything that they think’ and he’d hate for Harry to realize that he’s probably way more of a coward than he’s let on.

In any case, he supposes he has less than a day to get over it, given that these two people will be enough to have this whole village in the know by then.

They pause outside of Harry’s front door, giving themselves a moment to muster the courage and strength they’ll inevitably need. Louis can do this. He’s a twenty-two-year-old man with a plethora of experience and confidence. He’s not eighteen anymore. He will not let this man intimidate him, and he will certainly not let him intimidate Harry, either.

“Hey, you’ll be okay,” Louis assures softly, placing both hands on his jaw and pulling him closer until their noses knock. Harry’s shaky breath comes out in a hot puff against his lip. “I’ll be right there, okay? And if you want to leave, we will. We don’t have to stay. Just remember who you are, and don’t let him tell you differently, alright?”

Harry nods, just barely, eyes wide like he’s only just now realizing what he’s gotten himself into. Louis pecks him quickly and squeezes his shoulder, unconcerned about whether the reverend can see them through the front windows.

Harry’s parents are already sitting in the living room when they enter. Anne’s silent, not seeming to do much else but stare at the blank wall, while next to her, his dad unsurprisingly has the Bible open in his lap. Louis keeps his hand in Harry’s as they make their way towards the couch across from them. The reverend watches them - or really their _hands_ \- with a hard, fixed expression. Louis forces himself to keep his head up, sending what he can of a smile to Anne.

“I want to talk,” Harry says the moment they’re seated.

His dad closes the Bible, placing it delicately on the couch’s arm before reflecting his intense gaze back to Harry. Louis squeezes his hand. “I told you over the phone that if you want to continue with this - which you clearly do - then there’s nothing for me to say,” he says in an unexpectedly calm tone.

“So, what? Just like that I’m no longer your son?”

The reverend sighs. “Of course you’re my son. You will always be my son and I will love you no matter what,” Louis bites back a scoff while he continues, “but so long as you’re actively going against God’s Word, I can’t approve of that. You continuing to live here would just be condoning your behaviour.”

“It’s not a behaviour, dad, it just is.” He glances at Louis briefly, and softly says, “I love him.”

“No, Harry,” the reverend says without a beat, firm in his rebuke, “what a man and a woman have, your mum and I, that’s love. This is just -”

“It’s what?” Harry presses, eyes blazing.

“It’s a sin. An abomination. It’s God’s Word, you know that.”

“Hon…” Anne says quietly, lightly touching the reverend’s arm to dissuade him. He looks to her very briefly, but before he can say anything else, Harry is speaking, shaking his head in distraught disbelief.

“You make it seem like it’s a choice. That I _chose_ to be gay.”

“Well, God certainly didn’t create you this way,” the reverend replies simply. “God didn’t create sin. What he created is man and woman, Adam and Eve.”

“Dad,” Harry flounders unfathomably, “that was thousands of years ago - ”

“That doesn’t change it,” he interrupts. “That doesn’t make The Word any less true.”

Louis bites down on his tongue hard enough that he can taste blood. Similarly, their hands are gripped together so tightly that nerve damage has surely been done. He’s not sure which one of them started it, though he’s sure a case could be made for both. Louis’ not certain how much longer he can hold off on this whole punching in the face thing.

“So, are you just going to disown me unless I magically become straight?” Harry asks.

“It’s not ‘magic,’ Harry. Through prayer and the power of the Lord…”

“You think I haven’t tried that?” Harry explodes at once, the skin from his neck to cheeks heating with colour. “Ever since I was thirteen I’ve prayed and prayed, and nothing. Every day I’d wake up and go to bed with the same shame. I was angry at God for making me the way I was and not doing anything to change it. I got to the point where I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend or force myself to be into girls. What was the point when no matter what I did it never changed? That God just kept getting further and further away? And you know what? I don’t feel that shame anymore, and I’m closer to God than ever.” He stops to take a deep breath, and then says with a quieter voice, “I can’t pretend to understand. I can’t explain away these few verses that you hold onto so strongly. Maybe it’s a translation thing, maybe it’s cultural, maybe someone down the line twisted what it originally meant. I don’t know. But what I do know is that God loves me, and he loves Louis. How can you explain away me feeling closer to Him than ever before now that I finally accept who I am and how I was made?”

The reverend watches him, gaze heavy and steady, mouth twitching, but saying nothing. Louis resists high-fiving Harry out of sheer pride. He said it better than he could ever hope to, though that was never a question.

Due to the reverend’s lack of reply, Harry continues, face puffy and red, “How can you tell me I’m wrong when there’s so many things in the Bible that you ignore? You can look back on slavery and the oppression of women, and how people used the Bible to justify it, and you _know_ that’s wrong - so how is this different? You can find Bible verses to justify almost any kind of hate, and that’s when it comes to Jesus’ love, does it not? Isn’t that the most important thing? Love? I’m supposed to be your son. Why wouldn’t you want me to be happy?”

There’s a break in which no one says a word, the only sound their halted breath and the buzz of the fridge in the next room. Louis glances at Anne for the first time and notices that she’s gripping the couch arm and pressing her lips together like she’s trying to keep the words in just as much as Louis. No matter how shitty it is, Louis understands this is a conversation Harry and his dad need to have, and it leaves him unsure as to what point he should break in.

Finally, the reverend speaks up again. “I do, Harry, but I know this won’t lead to happiness. Going off the path God clearly intends for you leads to destruction. Loving you is telling you the hard truth to try and get you to see Satan’s lies. It’s my role as your father and a vicar to point you back towards the path of righteousness, not get behind sin. I’ve read the Bible front to back, son, multiple times. Don’t think I don’t know.”

Louis takes this as his answer, standing up abruptly. Harry keeps his hand firmly attached to Louis’ but remains seated, staring imploringly up at him. “Okay, I’ve had about enough of this. Come on, love, let’s go.”

Harry swallows, eyes shifting, still not moving.

“Harry,” Louis says, soft but firm, “you don’t need to listen to this. Don’t let him bring you back to that place of shame.”

With that, Harry slowly stands, gaze meeting his father’s.

Louis’ heart is pounding in his ears, nerves nearly buzzing out of his skin. He keeps seeing himself as that scared eighteen-year-old kid, shamed and heartbroken and silent. That, along with his promise to never be _that_ person again, is enough for Louis to turn to the reverend. “You may be his dad, but I’m not going to let you bully him like you did to me. Hiding behind your Bible, using God as an excuse for your ignorance and complete lack of tolerance. It’s disgusting that you’re so far into your hatred that you can’t even see through it to love your own bloody son.”

The reverend stares back without wavering, and says, “It’s not too late for you either, Louis.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Louis curses, tugging Harry away by the hand. He follows without resistance. “I’m not wasting any more breath on this, and neither is Harry, so you talk to him only when you’re ready to apologize for being such a shit father and human being.” He stares after them grimly, mouth pursed into a thin line while Anne blinks next to him, looking entirely lost and near tears. “See you around, Anne.”

Harry seems to be too dazed to say anything himself, fumbling behind Louis with eyes focused on the ground, looking as if he had just witnessed his own beheading.

They’re halfway down the driveway when the screen door slams shut and Anne comes running out after them. Harry’s barely turning to see that it’s her when she envelops him into a hug, squishing him against her front. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” she says, sniffing back tears.

Harry’s hands slowly move to hug her back, though he puts very little strength into it. “No, it’s okay,” he eventually mumbles, “it’s not your fault.”

“I wish there was something I could do. I wish there was something I could say to make him see.”

Harry shakes his head, but says nothing. Louis watches from the side as they stay knotted together for a moment longer, Harry’s face buried in her shoulder. Eventually, Harry is the one to pull back, saying, “I should - I need to go, mum.”

“Okay, baby.” She runs her hands over her wet cheeks, blinking back more tears. “I love you, okay? Please don’t forget that.”

“I won’t, mum,” Harry says with a sad smile. “I love you too.”

She looks over him with a guilted expression before turning to Louis and squeezing his shoulder. “I’m sorry too, Lou.”

He gives her a quick hug of his own, unsure as to where to place his thoughts. Once they walk off, Anne remains standing there, watching after them. Harry keeps his arms crossed across his chest, holding himself close. Louis is at a loss of what to say, feeling useless and completely unequipped for such a matter.

Not wanting to go home and face his own family just yet, Louis leads Harry into the same park they had ended up after the first run in with his dad. There are a few teenagers on the other side of the play structure, sitting underneath a tree and smoking. Louis tugs him down onto a bench and slings an arm across his shoulder, Harry instantly sagging into him.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? What are you thinking?”

Harry chuckles unhumorously, shaking his head and staring up at the darkening sky. “I don’t even know.”

Louis kisses a cushion of curls, and waits.

Eventually, Harry sighs loudly, the smallest of whines escaping from the back of his throat. “God, what are you doing?” he directs towards the sky. He drops his head at once, resting it in his hands while his heel kicks at the dirt. “What if - ” he pauses before trying again, “What if he _is_ right? How am I supposed to know? He has so many years on me. He’s ordained, for goodness’ sake. He should know what God thinks better than me. What if I really am I just a big, gay sinner destined for hell?”

“Harry…”

“It’s just like - I just don’t know anymore,” he mumbles, sounding tiny.

“Harry,” Louis says, stronger this time, “you _do_ know. Don’t let your dad let you think differently. You know how God feels about you.”

“I haven’t spent nearly as much time in the scriptures as him. He went to Bible school. He studied this stuff. He has years on me. What if I’m making up God’s acceptance just to make myself feel better?”

Louis sighs, rubbing his fingers across his eyebrows. For the first time since he was a kid, Louis thinks, _God, help me._ “How have you felt these past few months?” he asks gently, running his hand down Harry’s back, fingers over the notches of his spine.

Harry’s quiet while he considers. Finally, he mumbles a quiet, “Good. Happy.”

“And you’ve prayed? You’ve read your Bible? You’ve been to church?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve genuinely felt closer to God than you had before?”

Harry’s hesitation is brief. “Yes. I mean, I think. No, _yes_. I have. It’s felt different. Like someone’s actually been on the other end. Like it’s not just a set of rules and guidelines and empty promises.”

Louis waits, giving Harry a moment for his own words to sink in. He leans in, kissing his shoulder through his jumper. “Harry, you’re such a good person, and I’m not just saying that because you're my boyfriend. You are. One of the most generous, compassionate and genuine people I have ever met, and you’re only eighteen, okay? Do you get that? There’s fully grown adults who can only wish they could love people and life as much as you do. God sees that and he loves it. Don’t ever think for a second that that means nothing, that who you chose to love trumps all of the good things that you are and all of the genuine faith that you have, okay? Please don’t let your dad ruin that. Just because he has more experience than you, doesn’t mean he’s always right.”

Harry blinks up at him over his hands, looking apprehensive over whether to believe him or not, so Louis says, “I’m telling you the absolute, honest trust right now.”

Slowly, Harry nods, the smallest of smiles prickling at his lips. “Okay,” he says.

Louis takes ahold of his hand to kiss along his knuckles. Harry watches him, smile surprisingly genuine for someone who was basically just told that his own father wanted nothing to do with him. Harry giggles softly, knocking his forehead against Louis’ temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.” He kneads his fingers against Louis’ thigh, kissing his cheek.

“I love you too,” Louis responds, turning his head to capture Harry’s mouth in a proper kiss. “You’ve helped me too, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asks skeptically, eyebrow raised. “How?”

“You’ve helped me to be a better person. Not so bitter and angry towards everyone.”

“But you’re still bitter and angry,” Harry says, teasing.

“True,” Louis allows, “but a little less than before.”

Harry laughs, stroking some of Louis’ hair out from his eyes. “Well, I appreciate it sometimes. Like when you stand up for me, so. Yeah. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Harry shrugs. “Still, thanks,” he says, giving his leg another squeeze.

Pecking him yet again, Louis murmurs, “Anytime.”

*

Not so unexpectedly, by the following week, their relationship seems to be common knowledge in Holmes Chapel - common, though no less scandalous. Louis suspects better use would be put to educating themselves on actual global issues such as various wars or the depletion of their natural resources, but no, of course the reverend’s son’s sexuality is a much more important topic to discuss at every store and street corner.

Much like Zayn and Liam, nothing is really said to Louis directly, but he receives many of the same stares that he had gotten when his affair with Ben had been discovered. Louis can’t say he missed it much, but it’s significantly easier to endure now that he has a boyfriend who didn’t flee and a somewhat more supportive mother. It also helps that he’s no longer an eighteen-year-old boy facing a room of intimidating old men with Bibles.

Together they decide not to make a show of it, only going so far as to occasionally hold hands while out - though they become a tad more daring in their touches when Abi or Lottie is around, as if they create some sort of wall of protection. Louis can only imagine how upset it must make the reverend to hear that his own son is flaunting his homosexuality all over town. Neither he or Harry would know the exact words he would use to describe such feelings though, as he hasn’t reached out to Harry since their meeting. That’s just as well to Louis, who thinks if he ever sees the reverend again, it’ll be a day too soon. Yet for Harry, Louis assumes his indefinite silence is somehow more damaging than his harsh words.

Naturally, they don’t go to church anymore. And surprisingly, neither do his mum or sisters. They throw their own sort of service instead, putting on music and reading the Bible, listening to the occasional sermon online, while Louis tentatively hovers on the outside, uncertain about whether he wants to commit or not. His heart warms at the sight regardless - Harry, his mum, and his sisters all cozied together in the living room, still in their PJs with blankets thrown across their laps.

That’s until the first Sunday of October, when Louis’ awoken by Harry feathering kisses along his face and tickling his waist. As soon as he opens his eyes, he’s overwhelmed by Harry’s curls and _pink._ He’s been living in Phoebe's room for weeks now, yet every morning is just as much of a shock to his senses as the first. “Whattaya want?” Louis whines. “It’s my day off.”

“I’m going to church with your family,” he says simply, still hovering over top of him.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Harry replies, “and you’re coming with us.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Louis asks incredulously, squinting up at him.

“Because,” Harry pinches his side, “I said so.”

Louis snorts, rolling onto his side and curling further into his blankets in attempt to avoid Harry’s pawing hands. “Nice try. Not happening.”

“ _Louis._ ”

“Uh-uh, no way. Going back to sleep. You can walk back into your death trap if you so wish, but I’m not going. Ever.”

Forty-five minutes later he finds himself miserably staring up at the tower of St. Luke’s. When Harry goes to hold his hand he all but scowls, still angry that he used his apparent evil powers to drag him here, but he lets him hold it nonetheless.

“This is by far your stupidest idea yet,” Louis mutters.

Harry ignores him, tugging him up the stairs, his family following behind. His mum stays close, circling like a lioness protecting her cubs while the heavy stares of the congregation land on them and their intertwined hands, whispers buzzing to life. Louis starts to mentally prepare a list of all the things Harry needs to do to make this up to him - waking him up with blowjobs for the next week is at the top.

The reverend is nowhere to be seen, so they take a seat in a pew near the middle, their hands resting on Louis’ thigh. They’ve become quite good at focusing on each other during these times - when everyone around them seems to be only staring at _them_ , gazes mixed with judgement and curiosity. It’s significantly easier this way, staring into Harry’s emerald eyes and talking about something meaningless like the weather or last night’s episode of Sherlock. Thankfully, it’s always been easy with Harry to tune out the rest of the world, the whispers around them turning into no more than white noise.

Louis’ not certain what Harry was even expecting in coming here today. Whether he was hoping that his dad suddenly had a change of heart but forgot to tell him, or that his mere presence would have his dad begging for forgiveness. Honestly, Louis doesn’t think either of those are a likely possibility at all.

When the reverend appears at the pulpit, he faces the congregation for no more than a few moments before he seemingly zeroes in on Harry and him, eyes flashing with something unrecognizable. He keeps watching them, jaw set, as the minutes drag. The only sound in the entire church seems to be their own heavy breathing, connected over the pews. Harry stays very still, unblinking, his fingers squeezing Louis’.

Before the reverend even _speaks_ Louis somehow knows this is going to be worse than he had suspected. He gets the feeling Harry realizes this too, shoulders tense and back stiff.

The reverend pulls his gaze away to reach for his Bible, flipping through it with a certain determination. When he finds what he was looking for, he looks back up, gaze hardly straying as it lands back on them. Louis holds onto breath, and prepares.

“In First Corinthians, chapter six, Paul states, ‘Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.’” He stares up at the stained glass window before him as if seeing God himself. Harry doesn't seem to be breathing, so Louis swallows, breathing in deep enough for the two of them.

“As many of you can tell, that’s a long list -  all of these sins are just as serious as the others, but I feel called to expand on one of these this morning, one that differs from the rest. Today, homosexuality, for the most part, is celebrated by our society. It’s seen as a good thing, a hallmark of progress, a human right. In our culture, homosexuality is hardly seen as something to repent from. No guilt or shame is expected, unlike many of the others on this list - in fact, it’s simply _applauded_. Amidst all this propaganda of same-sex marriage, of equality, or as Lady Gaga once put it, ‘Baby, I was born this way.’”

He pauses while the congregation buzzes with quiet, nervous laughter, Harry clenching Louis’ fingers inside his fist. “But the hard truth is that this is God’s Word. All of these acts - including homosexuality - face the consequences of his wrath. Hebrews 13:8 states, ‘Jesus is the same yesterday and today and tomorrow.’ The Word is unchanging, it doesn’t sway to culture, to what the popular opinion of our day is. It’s constant. As Christians, we believe with deepest sincerity that the acceptance and embracing of homosexual practice, along with other sins, keeps people out of the kingdom of God. And if our society celebrates it, we can’t both be loving, truth-seeking Christians and at the same time remain silent on this issue. Too much is at stake. It’s our jobs as disciples of Jesus Christ to witness these truths to the world, not succumb. Even Jesus said in Matthew that he did not come to bring peace to the earth. He warned us that following him would come with consequences, that preaching his word and striving for righteousness would cause houses to be divided, father against son, mother against daughter.”

“Harry, let’s go,” Louis hisses through his teeth, tugging on Harry’s arm, but he refuses, shaking his head as he stares, eyes fixed dead ahead. Louis grits his teeth, heart pounding in his ears.

“Homosexuality is clearly condemned in the Bible. God created Adam and Eve, a man and a woman, to come together, to complement each other and to procreate. Sex’s original, intended purpose is for reproduction, to populate our planet, and homosexuality cannot carry out that command. It undermines the family unit of a husband and wife, the God-ordained means of procreations. It’s dangerous to society to go thinking on that these lusts are natural and just as valid as what was created between man and woman. Homosexuality, among other sins, came from the fall of Eve. We must see it for what it is - a brokenness. It is our job as Christian's to love our homosexual brother's and sister's in a way that leads them to God's truth as opposed to the lies of Satan.”

Louis doesn’t have to say anything this time, Harry jumping up from his seat as if burnt, hand still gripped tightly in Louis’. If the reverend continues, Louis doesn’t hear it over the rush in his ear as Harry leads him from out of the pew and down the aisle towards the doors. Neither of them dare look up to the front where Harry’s dad stands.

There’s no doubt the entire congregation is staring at them as Harry pushes the large, wooden doors open with little delicacy, letting it slam shut behind them. Harry continues at the same pace all the way through the foyer, down the stairs, and into the parking lot. Louis struggles to catch up to him, hand aching from where Harry is clenching on so tight.

“Harry, baby, please slow down. Just stop for a second, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Harry drops his hand at once, instantly going to slam it against the brick wall. Louis flinches, briefly worried he’s caused serious damage to his hand. “God. _Fuck!_ ” he all but screams in frustration. “ _Dangerous_ to society? Is he fucking kidding?! What the _hell?!_ ”  

Louis’ furious too, he’s absolutely _livid_ , but he knows that if he gives in to it there will be no hope for the two of them. They’ll be screaming, crying messes in the middle of the church parking lot, and one of them will _definitely_ break something, so he keeps it all in, taking long, drawn-out breaths in an attempt to calm his own blinding rage.

“He’s my _dad_ , I don’t fucking understand!” he cries out, and begins to alternate punching and kicking at the wall. “How could he just - in front of _everyone._ He doesn’t even - _fuck!_ ”

“Harry, hey, stop it,” Louis chastises, grabbing him around the middle and pulling him back from the wall. “ _Stop_. You’re going to hurt yourself. It’s not worth it.”

Harry ignores him in favour of his rant. “God, I can’t fucking believe him! How could he do this to me?! How could he be so - heartless?” He slumps into Louis’ arms at once, and begins to cry.

Louis hugs him tighter, pressing his forehead to the top of Harry’s spine while he breathes in deep. Barely a moment of silence passes between them when suddenly he hears footsteps. He looks up to see his entire family, along with Anne, standing there, faces ashen.

Louis doesn’t have a chance to blink, let alone let go of Harry, as Abi appears with her family. Behind them are the Horans and other families that he can’t put names to. There are at least twenty people staring back at them, and Louis blinks, unsure as to what’s happening. Out of all of them, the reverend’s nowhere to be seen.

He stares in shock, processing the situation. All of these people would have had to actively stand and walk out after them while the reverend was still preaching. For one brief moment Louis’ chest burns at the thought of him still behind his pulpit preaching hate to a crowd of avid listeners, but then he looks at all of the faces staring back at them, expressions full of pity and understanding, and it no longer matters. Because this pocket of people standing here, some he doesn’t even know, mean so much more than the ones doubled in number inside. They’re taking a stand - against the reverend, against the town - and Louis nearly cries out in gratitude.

Harry looks much the same, eyes wide and glimmering as he takes in the people before him, nearly breathless. With one sniff and a wipe under his eye, Harry breaks out into a smile. And with one look at him, Louis smiles too.

*

Right away, Harry’s decision to move to London with Louis is concrete. Louis can’t even argue with him this time. He’d do the exact same thing - in fact, that was what he _had_ done. Got far away from Holmes Chapel the second he could.

Louis’ managed to save up some money, and Harry his own, enough to last them at least a couple of months’ rent at Zayn and Liam’s while they try and figure out what to do. The thing is, while Louis would love to live with Harry officially, he also remembers the vow he made to himself that he would never move in with a boyfriend as quickly as he had Aiden. They’ve been together six months, that’s one whole month _less_ than he had been with Aiden. Of course, being with Harry is entirely different than it being with Aiden, had been since the beginning, but still. Louis promised himself, and a promise to himself is just as much as a promise as any other.

But three days after the church incident, Harry tells him that he’s dropping school, and Louis realizes that’s that. They’re moving to London.

They give themselves two weeks, allowing Louis to quit his job, and them to spend time with Louis’ family and Anne and friends. Anne doesn’t seem happy about Harry’s decision, but she hardly objects, a quiet, yet sad understanding. She makes him swear that he’ll at least consider applying for a university in London.

The day before they’re supposed to leave, Harry goes to his house to grab some of his things. Louis joins him, wanting to be a buffer for any possible confrontations with his dad.

Sure enough, the second they step inside, he’s there, looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry steps back, instantly tense, jaw tight. “Harry, can we talk?”

Harry sucks in a breath, clearly taken aback, glancing over at Louis briefly for guidance.

“Don’t you think you’ve said enough?” Louis says for him.

The reverend purses his lips, but then he’s nodding, just barely. “Harry,” he says again, looking him straight in the eye, “I want to apologize.”

Louis’ eyebrows fly to his hairline while Harry’s mouth drops slightly. “What?” he manages to splutter out in disbelief. “ _Apologize?_ ”

“I would really like to talk to you,” he repeats. His eyes flick to Louis’. “Alone.”

“Uh, no,” Louis says at once, “I don’t think so.”

Harry turns to look at him. “Lou,” he says quietly but with drive, “just for a minute, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Louis gapes, shocked. Not only does he not want to leave Harry alone to be verbally abused by his father again, but if he really is apologizing - doesn’t Louis deserve one as well?

Harry’s still looking at him with imploring eyes, so all Louis can do is sigh, relenting. Though he does so indignantly, staring the reverend down with what he hopes is intimidation while slinking out the door and taking a seat on the front step.

He’s out there for at least twenty minutes, running a stick through the garden bed and trying not to fume. He’s just about to get up and go back inside to see that Harry isn’t in a puddle of tears or succumbing to a conversion tactic, when he appears at the door. Louis fumbles to stand up, but Harry waves him down, taking a seat next to him instead, a noted hesitation in his movements.

“What happened? What did he say?” Louis asks without delay.

Harry falters, looking thoughtful, as if trying to pick reality from a dream. “He apologized,” he says eventually. “He realized that he handled it the wrong way. He said that he felt convicted by God on the way that he treated me. He didn’t say that he suddenly agrees, but that our relationship is more important than our conflicting views.”

Louis blinks, staggered. “Okay, so…” he says slowly, pressing for more.

“He wants to try and work it out. To figure out how to go about this and still relate to each other somehow.”

Louis nearly scoffs in disbelief, but Harry looks so serious, almost relieved, that he can’t bring himself to ruin what could be the only positive thing coming from this subject with his own negativity. “Okay…that’s good?” he offers, though he doubts he sounds all that convincing.

Harry pauses before replying, as if weighing out and considering his next words, possibly in preparation for Louis’ reaction. “He doesn’t want me to move to London. He asked me to come back, and at least finish off the semester.”

“And what did you say?” Louis asks, nerves bubbling in his gut.

“I said I’d think about it,” he mumbles, ducking his head.

“Harry,” Louis says incredulously, “we’re leaving _tomorrow._ ”

Harry puts his head in his hands, looking pained in his confusion. Louis doesn’t understand how one twenty-minute conversation could suddenly erase all the hurt he had caused. Louis gets that they’re in entirely different situations, it being Harry’s dad and all, but to Louis, the damage is near irreparable. No half-assed apology would have him suddenly reconsidering his thoughts or feelings - and certainly not his _plans._

“I know that,” Harry says, “I just - I feel like if I were to leave now we won’t ever work through this. I want to try.”

“So, you’re saying you’re not coming with me to London?” Louis spells out for him bluntly.

Harry looks at him, nibbling on his lip, more apprehensive than certain. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s my family. I can’t just give up on them.”

“Well, he seemed pretty ready to give up on you,” Louis mutters with a baited breath before he can stop himself.

Harry snaps his mouth shut, looking wounded. Louis’ not going to apologize for the truth.

“I’m still leaving tomorrow,” Louis says once a silence passes over them.

Harry looks at him, face crumpling. “I know,” he says softly.

The silence trickles between them again, longer this time, Louis’ disappointment undoubtedly hanging thick above them. “So, what does this mean for us?” he eventually asks.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Harry says hurriedly. “It’s not like - it’s not like we’re breaking up.” He looks at him, suddenly worried, as if worried Louis’ thinking differently.

Louis waits a brief moment before shaking his head. It’s not like he was actually _considering_ it, but he figures Harry deserves to sweat just a little after pulling the rug out from underneath him so abruptly and unexpectedly. Sometimes Louis really sucks at the whole being-an-adult thing.   

“We’ll stick with the original plan,” Harry says, “what we were going to do before I was coming with you.”

Louis sighs, mouth set in a thin line.

“Louis,” Harry begs softly, eyes wide and swimming with hope, “please understand. I just feel like it’s something I need to do, at least for a little while. It’s not the end… It’s just a bit - _delayed._ And maybe - maybe it’s better this way. You even said you didn’t want to move in with your boyfriend so quickly again. It gives us time to figure it out. And for me to figure it out, school-wise, without jumping straight into it and possibly regretting my decision.”

Louis shrugs in dejection. He knows Harry’s right, but it doesn’t stop him from being any less agitated. They had _plans_. Louis was excited, only for Harry to shut it down at the very last second just because his arsehole father asked him to. Now instead of getting on a train with Harry tomorrow morning, he’d be getting on alone. He spent the past two weeks thinking Harry would be along with him - he didn’t have to prepare for goodbyes. He thought he’d be seeing Harry every day, sharing the same bed and table and life with him, just to find out that he’ll be lucky to see him once a month.

“Lou,” Harry says softly, leaning into him and squeezing his thigh. “I’m sorry. We can always see what happens come January. That’s only a few months away. We have so much time ahead of us, right? A few months are nothing in comparison.”

Louis shakes his head, at a loss for what to say without entirely cutting down Harry’s decision.

“Please don’t be angry, Lou,” Harry pleads further.

“I’m not angry,” he eventually says, “I’m disappointed, and I don’t want you to get hurt all over again. And I hate to tell you this, but I’m thinking it’s a pretty strong possibility that you will. He’s not just going to suddenly think that being gay is all fine and dandy. It’s still going to be a sin, and you’re still going to have to deal with the repercussions of those beliefs every single day.”

“I have to try,” Harry says. “Maybe all he needs is to see that I’m still the same person. That I still have the same faith.”

Louis shakes his head once more, and says nothing else. He’s _not_ going to argue about this.

“We’ll still see each other. The train ride isn’t too dear, and we can both make trips. I’m off school Friday to Monday.” Harry’s staring at him with such wide, Bambi eyes that it’s impossible for Louis not to feel himself cave.

“It’ll just suck not being able to see you whenever I want.” Louis sighs.

The tension in Harry’s shoulder lets out, and he gives the smallest of smiles while ducking his head into Louis’ shoulder. “I know, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?” he teases.

“Thinking that’s not possible,” Louis says tightly. When Harry looks at him in questioning worry, Louis elaborates by saying, “It’s already too fond.”

Harry lips slowly twist into a small smile, eyes shining. “We’ll be okay?” he asks hopefully. Louis looks at him thoughtfully and Harry blinks back, teeth scraping across his lip in worry.

Louis laughs, amazed that that can even be a _question_ , even in his disappointment. Letting out a long breath, he pulls Harry into him to press his lips to his temple, and murmurs, “Always.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not a preacher, nor have i even heard actual sermons preaching against homosexuality, so i took some excerpts straight from these articles [x](http://www.desiringgod.org/blog/posts/why-homosexuality-is-not-like-other-sins) [x](http://carm.org/bible-homosexuality)


	7. pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh, it's done!! thanks so much to every single one of you who've read/commented/enjoyed this. you've all been wonderful :)))) and yet another thanks to my fantaaaaastic beta's, [genuinelybelieve](http://genuinelybelieve.tumblr.com) and [decisionsandrevisions](http://decisionsandrevisionsfic.tumblr.com), for which this wouldn't be what it is without them. tons and tons of love xxx

 

To put it lightly, being in London without Harry _sucks._

In the three months since he’s returned, he’s seen Harry five times - which is quite a lot, given their busy schedules and low funds, but it’s simply not enough. No amount of visits would be adequate unless Louis was seeing him every day - and no, his computer screen doesn’t cut it.

Being reduced to wanking off for each other on cam for weeks at a time isn’t Louis’ ideal either, though the time they spend in Louis’ bedroom during his visits is nearly enough to make up for it. During Harry’s first visit, he had been shy about making too much noise, not wanting Zayn and Liam to overhear. Their flat is small and the walls are thin, and Harry quickly realized that no matter how hard he bit into the sheet or how carefully Louis tried to fit the mattress against the wall to keep it from squeaking, Zayn and Liam were always faithful to tease them the following morning about how little they slept. It didn’t matter how many time Louis tried to convince Harry that it wasn’t _actually_ a big deal, that Zayn and Liam didn’t care, and that they probably deserved it for the countless times Louis was forced to hear them fuck clearly and graphically. It took until the first night of his second visit, when amidst their heavy snogging, the sound of a mattress squeaking and unmistakable moans seeped in from down the hallway. Harry laid there laughing for nearly five minutes. After that, he stopped caring as much, which was brilliant, as uncensored sex was not something they had been privileged with often.

It always feels right having Harry with him in London, showing him the sites and all his favourite hidden gems. Harry seems to love the city more and more with every visit, while at the same time being less and less enthusiastic about school. Louis must admit that every time Harry gets on that train home instead of moving in with him, he feels increasingly disappointed. While they talk loosely of Harry eventually moving to London, there’s never any certainty in it, Harry still unsure about leaving his father. Harry insists their relationship is better, though Louis can’t help but question it, seeing as he still very much disagrees with his and Harry’s relationship and wants as little to do with Louis as Louis does with him. Louis’ curious how this ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ mindframe is healthy in even the slightest, but Harry only gets agitated every time he asks, so he’s stopped pushing.

A month in, Louis managed to land a job as a bartender at The Globe, allowing him the opportunity to chat up the big names in the business while mixing them cocktails. Louis’ landed a few roles to keep himself busy - a car commercial, an extra in a couple of television shows - and in mid-January, he’s cast as a supporting role in an original production at The freaking _Vaudeville._ He texts Harry the moment he finds out, telling him to excuse himself from class and ring him immediately. His phone rings not even two minutes later, and when Louis tells him the news, practically bouncing up and down in the middle of the street like a nut, Harry actually _cries_. He denies it, of course, but Louis knows how his voice gets, all squeaky and somehow even more mumbly than usual.

Once he’s had the chance to calm down, Harry jokes by saying, “This is brilliant, Lou. You can become a rich and famous actor, and instead of focusing on my schooling I can become a homemaker. Cook your meals, do the laundry, look after the children. We could have our own little village. Like Brad and Angelina. There, problem solved.”

“Only if you wear an apron with nothing on underneath,” Louis says.

Harry laughs. “Deal.”

So, _that’s_ a thing. Maybe he shouldn’t have made fun of Zayn and Liam for their similar, premature plans, after all.

Harry promises to visit in early February, but the day before he’s supposed to come, Louis receives a phone call from an over-apologetic Harry, telling him he’s stuck finishing a last-minute group project.

“Didn’t the semester just start?” Louis asks, disappointment curling in his gut.

“Yeah, but this prof is a tyrant. She has a assignment due every few weeks, it seems,” he explains. Seeing as Louis is very much inexperienced in the whole proper university thing -  nevermind law school - he suspects he has very little room to argue.

On his second day of moping, Zayn and Liam drag him to Niall’s new flat for a “belated celebration on his role, part housewarming, part let’s-get-Louis-drunk-so-he-stops-whining-about-Harry.” Louis whines the entire journey there, if only to get it out of his system.

“I’m going to see him less and less now that he decided to stay in school. It’s just going to get harder from here, you know? And with the play, I’m not going to be able to just go and see him. What if the distance and our conflicting schedules become too much? What if we break up? What if he dumps me because cam sex is just not enough anymore, and he meets a fit lawyer? Like in _Legally Blonde_? What if I have to go to law school? I don’t want to go to law school!” Okay, so maybe those few beers he had before leaving _weren’t_ such a good idea. Zayn and Liam certainly don’t think so anyway, not with the way they’re moaning and groaning and rolling their eyes into the tube window.

“Bugger off would you, mate?” Zayn says. “You’re lousy company.”

Liam, on the other hand, always more understanding of the two, says, “None of those things will happen.”

Louis thanks him before pointing out to Zayn matter-of-factly, “And need I remind you, I wouldn’t even _be_ here, had you not said, and I quote, ‘Get off your lazy, moping arse and come with us to Niall’s.’”

Zayn rolls his eyes once more, but says nothing else, clearly stumped.

Louis turns back to Liam. He always knew he liked him better, anyway. “You reckon I could go to law school if I wanted, yeah? I could do it, be a lawyer that is.”

Zayn snorts, and Louis elbows him in the ribs just as Liam mumbles, rather noncommittally, “Yeah, yeah. Definitely, Lou.”

Despite how unconvincing he sounds, Louis settles back into his seat, smiling contentedly.

Niall’s new place is further than his previous one, so by the time they arrive, Louis has managed to walk off some of his original buzz. At the door, Niall greets them before they even get the chance to knock, shoving a beer into Louis’ hands. “There you go, mate,” he says. “Some birdies told me you were being quite the pain in the arse. Thought this would loosen you up a bit.”

Louis narrows his eyes at Zayn and Liam, betrayed. They shrug, Liam offering an innocent smile.

They settle on the couch, a comfortable but ripped thrift store find that the three of them had helped to carry five blocks in the rain. Niall already has his laptop set up on the coffee table to Skype Harry in. It’s depressing, but it’s the closest they’ve got. It feels too weird without him there, a missing puzzle piece that can’t be ignored or covered up. Skype is a temporary filler, dull and ripped around the edges, but it will have to do until the real thing can be located.

Except for a few boxes spread about, Niall appears to be mostly moved in. It’s hardly as nice and spacious as Zayn and Liam’s flat, though that’s expected for students. It’s much nicer than his last flat, at least, which was basically a rundown, decaying hole with shared toilets for the entire floor. The previous tenants had left a rickety metal bed frame and a single, lumpy mattress that Niall refused to sleep on - understandably so, as Louis suspects even the _rats_ would refuse to sleep on its mystery stains.

“So, this elusive new flatmate of yours, how is he?” Louis asks, still nursing his beer, another open and sitting next to the computer.

“Ah, he’s alright. Just moved in today, actually.”

“Reckon he’s fit to be part of our gang?” Zayn inquires with a sly smile.

“Sure,” Niall says, “I think so. I’ll let you decide for yourselves, yeah?” Niall leans back in his seat, head tilted towards the closed door closest to them. “Hey mate,” he yells not so eloquently, “why don’t you come on out here?”

Louis uses the distraction to sign on to Skype, clicking on Harry’s name. There are only a few rings before he answers, his beautiful, curly head appearing on screen. Louis can’t help the large, goofy grin that sweeps across his face. They’ve been together for like, a few months short of a year and his chest still flutters. It’s absolutely ridiculous, is what it is.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, Lou.” Harry beams, leaning close to the screen like he’s about to go in for a kiss. “How are you?”

“Okay. Miss you. At Niall’s new place. Not the same without you here.”

He pouts. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He shrugs. He frowns at Harry’s surroundings, which are unlike any of the rooms in Harry’s house that he can recall. “Where are you?”

“My room. Changed it around a bit.”

“Oh, alright,” Louis allows, though he continues to peer into the background, trying to determine where in his room he could possibly be sitting. Just as well, Louis hasn’t been in his room in months.

“Hold on a second, yeah? There’s some guests over and they’re making an absolute ruckus.” Harry doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s getting off the bed and disappearing from the screen.

Louis takes a better look at his room, even more confused. It’s been awhile, but clearly not long enough for Louis to completely forget what his room looked like. That was where they had sex for the first time after all, and Louis can’t just forget _that_. He’s too distracted by his confusion to notice the sound of the bedroom door opening. It takes Zayn exclaiming, “Holy shit, mate!” for Louis to finally look up towards the intruder.

Louis’ mouth falls open, heart jumping into his esophagus.

Harry grins sheepishly, hands clasped behind his back.

“Oh my god,” he cries, jumping up at once and dashing towards his boyfriend. “You little shit! What are you doing here?!”

“Nice to see you too, babe.” Harry smirks while Louis pulls him for a crushing kiss.

He doesn’t give Harry room to breathe before wrapping his arms tightly around his middle, pulling him close. “What are you doing here? What’s going on? Don’t tell me - ”

“Surprise.” He grins. “I’m the elusive new flatmate.”

“No fucking way,” Louis chokes out, nearly in tears. “I can’t believe you!” He knocks him in the arm, though gently, not wanting to bruise his baby. “Keeping this from your own boyfriend! How did you - how long - what about school?”

Harry shrugs, having enough mind to appear slightly guilty, though still pleased. “I might’ve lied about going back this semester. I’ve been talking to Niall about this for a couple of months. I wanted to surprise you.”

Louis shakes his head, at a loss for what to say, disbelief and utter excitement clouding any proper brain functions. He turns very briefly towards the others before pushing Harry back into the room where he came from. “Just give us a few minutes, yeah lads? You can have your proper hellos then.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before closing the door behind them, wasting no time as he attacks Harry’s mouth with his own. “So, how exactly should I punish you for this little stunt?” he murmurs after a few heavy kisses.

Harry laughs, thighs backed against the mattress. “Maybe wait until our mates aren’t here.”

“You can’t tell me when to punish you. That defeats the purpose of a punishment.”

“Oh well,” Harry says simply, smirking, “Niall’s not accustomed yet.”

“Well, he’s gonna have to be now, don’t you think?”

Harry shakes his head in refusal, still laughing. “Later.”

Louis lets out a long, deprived whine. “At least let me blow you. The punishment can wait.”

Harry laughs harder, more breathlessly, this time holding back any objections as Louis pushes him against the mattress by his shoulders. Louis recognizes the blankets at once. Those are Harry’s blankets, alright - he really _does_ live here.

Just before leaning in to kiss him, Louis looks over his shoulder and spots Harry’s still-open laptop. Zayn and Liam are grinning back at them, waving in amused innocence. “Nice try, pervs,” Louis admonishes, ending the call and shutting the computer as they burst into laughter that he can still hear through the walls.

Harry’s beet red when Louis looks back to him. Outside, Niall yells, “Keep quiet, would you? Me virgin ears!”

“Oh Harry, baby, harder,” Louis fake moans, yelling loud enough for them to hear.

Harry scowls, smacking his arm, which only earns a loud cackle from Louis.

Louis shimmies up the mattress, stretching to press play on the iPod dock on Harry’s nightstand, cranking up the volume. Harry’s cheeks are still bright red when he returns, looking like he might resist until Louis presses a dirty kiss onto his mouth, hand instantly snaking to tug down his zipper. “God,” he whines once he takes Harry inside his mouth, “it’s absolutely unfair how much I’ve missed your cock.”

Harry threads his hands through Louis’ hair, gentle in comparison to his heavy breathing. “Well, you won’t have to anymore.”

“Thank God,” Louis says, diving back in to suck at his tip.

Harry pretends he’s not going to return the favour for a whole thirty seconds after he comes. However, when he does tug Louis’ underwear down his hips, he goes in with more desperation than grace. Louis’ not very good at keeping quiet, Harry’s mouth too outrageous, so there’s very little doubt that the lads are still able to hear him over the music. It’s been nearly _a month_ ; they’re just going to have to understand.

Afterwards, once Louis’ recuperated and regained his thoughts, he turns onto his side to face Harry, stroking a hand through his curls. “I can’t believe you bloody moved here and didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re not angry, are you?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course not. You’re _here,_ aren’t you?”

Harry smiles, leaning in for a soft brush of their lips. “You’re not upset that I’m living with Niall?”

Louis hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. “No,” he replies honestly.

“He just really needed a flatmate, and I thought maybe it’d be best. Gives us time and space to decide when we’re ready to live together - when we want to, not just because we feel we have to,” he explains reasonably. “Plus, it might be good for the sheltered boy to live on his own before moving in with his adult, experienced boyfriend. I can perfect my homemaking skills,” he teases.

“Sounds fair to me,” Louis deems. “Though I reckon you have ace homemaking skills compared to me.”

Harry pokes his tongue into his cheek in attempt to hold back laughter. “Probably,” he ends up admitting. “Your cooking is pretty shit. Have you even done your laundry since I was here last?”

Louis blinks back innocently. “Sometimes I sneak some clothes into Zayn and Liam’s hamper.”

Harry barks out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “How have you even managed to survive on your own for so long?”

“Zayn took care of me,” Louis replies, simply and without shame. “Though he refuses to now, even though I told him it’s practice for when he has kids, you know?”

“I hope you know that just because I live here now, it doesn’t mean that I’m coming over to do your laundry, right?”

“Right,” he confirms, even though Harry is _totally_ going to come over to do his laundry.

Despite the fact that Harry’s father is the last thing Louis wants to talk about now, or _ever_ , his curiosity gets the best of him, and he figures he should ask. “I reckon your dad wasn’t very happy about the move?”

Harry shakes his head, lips pursed. “No,” he sighs. “Even less impressed that I dropped school. Though I promised him I was only taking the spring off, and that I’d decide whether to go back to Uni here or go into culinary in the fall. He was at least relieved that I wasn’t coming to live with you. Though I think he even knows that it’s only a matter of time.” Louis fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt while he continues, “I couldn’t do it anymore. Be in this weird space of like, being out but not being able to actually acknowledge it or talk about it? Maybe it was silly of me, but I had sort of hoped that we could eventually have some sort of open, real conversation about it, but no. It was either I actively tried to become straight, or we just ignored it all together. My mum tried a bit. I think she also hoped, but when she saw that it wasn't going to change she actually convinced me that it was better to move here. She could tell I was happier here, that once I was home I was just gloomy and miserable." He sighs, nuzzling closer to Louis. "I felt like I was slowly reverting back into the closet, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. What’s the point of being out when I can’t even be proud of it? I love being here, feeling like I’m part of something bigger and important. And I love being able to hold your hand on the street without having to constantly worry, that I can completely be myself, you know? I don’t want to have to censor myself just so my dad or the village doesn’t get bothered.”

“Good, you deserve to be yourself,” Louis says in encouragement, pecking his nose. “However gay and flamboyant that may be. Heck, I’ll support you even if you decide to start wearing dresses.”

Harry laughs, lightly jabbing Louis’ stomach with his finger. “Are you hinting at something?”

“Nah, just saying.” He smiles easily. “Though,” he says slyly, walking his fingers along Harry’s chest. “I wouldn’t be opposed to some lacy panties.”

“Oh god,” Harry mumbles, cheeks flushing.

“White’s my favourite. Just throwing that out there.” Louis winks.

Harry rolls his eyes, but it’s not very convincing, looking more shy and maybe vaguely intrigued more than anything. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Louis growls into his mouth. “Please do.” He only said it as a joke, not thinking he’d actually end up _flustered_ over the idea. He never thought Harry in sexy lingerie would be a thing, but he’s certainly aroused. It’s something they must explore, even if Louis has to march into Victoria’s Secret himself. Maybe _that’ll_ be Harry’s punishment.

He clambers on top of Harry, all riled up again despite his recent orgasm. He kisses Harry into the pillow, and whines into his mouth, “Do we really have to go back out there? They can entertain themselves. Can’t I just fuck you instead?”

Harry shakes his head, giggling as he pushes him back by his shoulders. “Louis, no,” he says firmly. “I live here now. You can wait like, two hours.”

Louis pouts like a child. “But I wanna fuck you noooooow.”

Harry looks him in the eye, unmoved. “If that’s supposed to turn me on, it didn’t work.”

 _Challenge accepted._ Louis reaches down to cup his cock through his trousers, running his mouth hotly up his jaw to his ear. “I miss fucking into that tight, little arse of yours until you scream. Won’t you please let me fuck you, baby?”

“Goddamnit, Lou,” Harry curses. Fortunately for him, he’s much bigger than Louis, so all he has to do is shove his waist and Louis goes tumbling off of him. Harry clambers off the bed before Louis can pounce back. Louis takes one look at his expression of arousal and the visible bulge in his trousers, and begins to laugh. God, how he’s missed teasing him. It just wasn’t the same over a computer screen.

Harry huffs, still clearly frazzled, flushed and half-hard. He waits at the door, looking at Louis expectantly, and he has no choice but to crawl off the bed after him, sighing in dejection.

“Oi,” Niall says as soon as they reenter the living room, “did you two really just blow each other while we were just out here?”

“Oh, Niall,” Zayn chides in amusement, patting him on the shoulder, “that was nothing. A week with these two, and you’ll never look at Harry here the same. Not as pure as you’d think for being the reverend’s son.”

Harry’s cheeks flush redder as Louis says, “Oh, shut it, would you, Z?”

“Nah,” Harry says after a moment, chuckling quietly himself, “suppose that’s fair. Sorry I didn’t give you more of a proper warning, Ni.”

“Ah, well. So long as you don’t scare away all the birds I’m planning on having over,” he teases, winking.

“Don’t worry about that,” Louis responds, flinging down into the empty spot on the couch, squeezing close to the arm to allow Harry room. “We’re fit lads. If anything it gets girls off, I reckon.”

“Silly me,” Niall responds dryly, “there I was hoping I could get them off myself.”

“Sorry, mate,” Louis shrugs, “can’t have it all.”

Harry laughs, taking Louis’ untouched beer from the table before nuzzling in close to him. Louis throws an arm around his shoulder, and Harry pokes his nose into his chest, sighing contentedly.

“So, Harry,” Zayn speaks up, “how does it feel to no longer be living in Holmes Chapel?”

Harry pauses, considering. “Good,” he eventually concludes, then adds with a dimpled smile, “Freeing.”

Louis turns to Harry and returns the smile, squeezing his shoulder. He remembers the feeling all too well - stepping outside of his flat the first day in London, eighteen and optimistic, knowing he could be anyone he wanted to be. London was a blank canvas, and Louis had realized he already possessed all the bright and beautiful colours, always had. He no longer had to be afraid to recover them, didn’t have to be ashamed anymore. He could whip out all the colours and paint himself a rainbow, and that revelation was exactly that - _freeing._

 

*

 

The next morning, when they step out of Harry’s flat and into the pulsing London air, hand-in-hand, Louis asks, “How do you feel now?”

Harry smiles, light and happy. Squeezing Louis’ hand, he says, “Proud.”

 

 

 

_Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law._

_The commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ ‘You shall not murder,’ ‘You shall not steal,’ ‘You shall not covet,’_

_and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’_

_Love does no harm to a neighbour. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law._

**romans 13:8-10**

 

 


End file.
